


Accustomed to Her Face

by tjmystic



Series: My Fair Lady AU [1]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, My Fair Lady AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-08
Updated: 2014-05-21
Packaged: 2017-11-28 13:48:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 90,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/675088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tjmystic/pseuds/tjmystic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My Fair Lady AU of Once Upon a Time</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Why Can't the English?

Accustomed to Her Face (1/15)  
Title: Accustomed to Her Face, a My Fair Lady Rumbelle AU

Chapter 1: Why Can’t the English?

Rating: PG-13, for the moment (and only for mention of heavy drug and alcohol use and some unsavory and rather racist habits from one character)

Author’s Note: Again, this is my first foray into fanfiction (try saying that three times fast), so please be gentle with me. Not to say that I won’t accept any and all feedback you’re prepared to dish out, though ;) Also, to all who actually like Moe French, sorry I made him such a douchebag. In the original musical, Alfie Doolittle’s more of a loveable jerk, but that just didn’t play out right for this story. You’ll also see in future chapters that I took other liberties with the original characters, but I think it rather fits the personalities of the OUAT people better this way. 

Oh, and one last thing - I can most definitely be persuaded to include smut in this story if I get enough people who say I should. Although, if that’s the case, you won’t be getting anything NC-17 until chapter 11, and probably nothing even PG-13 til chapter 6.

Alright, enough of my rambling, here you go:

 

London was famous for a number of things. Tower Bridge, for example, which all the tourists mistook for London Bridge. Trafalgar Square, overflowing with people at all hours of the day. St. Paul’s and its pristine minaret. But London was hardly well-known for its sunshine, especially not in early March and even more especially when the sun had already set in the first place.

Izzy picked up the hem of her heavy wool skirt, sprinting through the puddles of water on her way. She shouldn’t have wasted so much time at the gentleman’s club. She should’ve read the papers, been in the know about the opera at Covent Garden, instead of hearing about it from some old wind bag that smelt of too expensive tobacco. She hated that smell. It gave her a headache, and, more than that, reminded her of her deadbeat dad. And, of course, her dad was one of the reasons she was racing for the opera house in the first place.

The Immigration Restriction Act in Australia was hailed as one of the best ideas the government had ever had. At least, it was when it was first passed. No more immigrants meant no more Chinese druggies, no more Chinese whores dirtying the men’s clubs, and no more Chinese children filling their streets. Izzy thought they should’ve dropped all their fancy airs and called it what it was, “The Anti-Asian – Especially Chinese People – Act”. Far as she knew, she and her dad were the only people in their entire town who thought the new laws were bad. But then, they had two totally different reasons for it. Moe French disliked them for the exact same reasons everyone else approved: no Chinese merchants meant no strong, oriental drugs for him to smoke (though Izzy wasn’t supposed to know he took them); no Chinese whores meant no women to warm his bed (another thing she wasn’t supposed to know he took); and no Chinese children meant no servants waiting on him hand and foot (which he couldn’t very well afford in the first place). Not to say that he didn’t try. He bought a little Chinese boy named Ping when Izzy was just eight to carry his drinks and generally make him look classier than he really was. Of course, that turned out to be all for naught when his taste in women and recreational activities made headlines throughout their neighborhood. Barely a week after his defamation, the two Frenches and Ping had set out for England (with three stolen boarding passes, mind), Moe, at least, intent on making a better name for himself. “My superior in-tee-lect is wasted on these sods,” he’d tell her daily with a sage nod. At least, she was sure he _thought_ he looked sage. To her, he was drunk as a skunk and moshed on opium. It made her wonder what he’d think of his “superior in-tee-lect” if he knew that Ping was a girl named Mulan. Thinking of Moe made her angry, though, and thinking of Mulan made her nervous, so she went back to rearranging her orchids as she rounded the final corner.

A sea of women wrapped in feather boas and muslin gowns spilled out of the opera house, clasping arms with men in fine tailored suits or their mothers who dripped white lace and pearls. Izzy couldn’t contain her wistful sigh at the sight. Unlike most of the other vendors milling about in the crowd, Izzy didn’t resent the upper class for their wealth and comfort. Rather, she amused herself by imagining what her life might be like if she was born richer, maybe got lucky enough to marry a rich man. But she had a block to work right now, so she shoved her daydreams aside for later when she could delve into her copies of Austen and Bronte. 

“Izzy, dearest! Come to join the fun?” Ashley shouted, her fake yellow hair a stark contrast to the daffodils in her arms. Izzy smiled and gave her a friendly wave but continued on her way. She was a sweet girl, Ashley, but a bit too dim for even Izzy to put up with for long. 

“Flars!” she shouted, holding her best violet overhead as she marched through the crowd. “Flars fer sale! Two a piece, lovely things! Fer you, madam?”

The old biddy shot her a frightened glare and scooted closer to her husband. Izzy drew back her hand, confused – she’d just washed her hands and face two days ago, they couldn’t be that bad. She turned away with a shrug. “Fresh flars, orchids, violets, all! Flars fer sale! Two a – oomph!”

She fell back onto wet stone, soaking her arse and dropping half her flowers in the process. 

“Watch where you’re going!” a man’s voice, high-class, of course, shouted at her.

“I’m so sorry, sir,” she mumbled, diving to and fro for the spilt petals. 

“You should be,” he continued to grumble. “This is a new suit you’ve ruined!”

She looked up at him, ready to apologize in whatever other way he deemed necessary, but was stopped short by his icy blue glare. He might’ve been any one of the other vendors just judging by his face. He wore a full beard like the majority of them, dark like his slicked back hair, but, where her neighbors had their evening meals and dribbles of beer stuck in their hair, his was clipped and neat. “I really am, sorry, sir. ‘ere, you can ‘ave one on the house.”

She offered a crisp orchid, but he knocked it from her hand, sending it into the street to be run over by a passing car. Rude as he was, Izzy would’ve been content to pass on. But he took it upon himself to walk all over her clean flowers, too, mushing them into the stone.

“Guttersnipe,” he sneered, straightening his jacket. 

Izzy saw red. “You ruddy pig!” she yelled, slapping him roughly on the arm. “That’s a whole week’s wages you dirtied up! How dare you!”

Rose and Mulan would have a fit if they could see her, beating on one of the upper class like he was an errant child. But even if they were there, it wouldn’t have mattered – Izzy may as well have been a part of the landscape as much attention as he paid her. Instead, he looked out to the street where a shiny black car awaited him. 

“Mr. Wayne-Booth, your cab’s here,” a tall man with spectacles and curly red hair called out. 

The man – Mr. Wayne-Booth, she assumed, and wasn’t he just the type to have two last names? – stepped towards the car, muttering something under his breath about street trash. The driver was kind enough to send her a sympathetic look before he shut the door and drove off, but that hardly calmed her down. She started to curse, maybe kick her basket into the street in frustration, but someone tapped her on the shoulder.

“Might you have any roses in that basket, miss?”

Izzy was half tempted to yell at the man to get out her anger towards Mr. Wayne-Booth, but that wouldn’t be fair. Besides that, the sight of him alone was enough to shock all other thoughts from her mind. His suit was perfectly normal – black and perfectly tailored – but on his head sat a top hat that must’ve been intended for a giant it was so absurdly big.

“Pardon?”

“Have you any roses? Your flowers look quite the prettiest, I must say.”

“Why, thank ya sir,” she blushed. “And that I do. What color?”

“White, if you have it. I can’t bear the sight of a red rose.”

“Well, what an odd thing to say!” she said, digging for the lone white rose at the bottom which had thankfully stayed put. “Ain’t never met a soul what didn’t like a red rose.”

“The way I see it, a red rose is just a white one that’s been painted. Now, why would I want something artificial when I could have a bona fide rose?” 

She cocked her head at him. Either the man was batty as they came, or he was especially good at mocking her. Still, she handed over the pale bloom and watched as he tucked it with a flourish into the brim of his top hat.

“Thank you very much, miss. You said two a piece?” he asked pulling out his change purse. “Here, I’ll give you three.”

Izzy gasped, holding the coins tight to her chest. “Thank ya, sir, thank ya! You’re a real treat!”

“Oh tosh, you’ll make me blush,” he simpered, and Izzy still couldn’t tell if he was serious or mocking her. “And there’s no need to call me ‘sir’. You can call me –”

“ _Ahem_.”

Izzy and her rose gentleman turned around in surprise, the latter probably because he wasn’t used to being interrupted. Izzy was used to it by now, though.

“Sorry ta bother you, girl,” the old duster whispered, casting a shifty eye to the columns behind him, “but there's a man behind that pillar what’s writin’ down ev’ry bloomin’ word you’ve said.”

Izzy froze. So, it had finally come to this. She knew that Moe’s debts were bad – hell, he’d been put in jail for them more times than she could count – but she thought she’d have a little more time before the cops came looking for her.

“But-but, I’m a good girl,” she stammered, wringing her hands anxiously. “I am! I ain’t done nothin’ illegal, I’m a good girl!”

She made a dash for it, jolting towards the street, but the rose gentleman’s arms had wrapped around her to make her stop. “Calm down, miss! I’m sure there’s nothing wrong.”

“I ain’t into no bad deals, I promise!” she shouted, drawing the eyes of vendors and opera-goers alike. The presence of so many faces pointed at her did nothing for her fear. “I’m a good girl, I keep to meself, I don’t owe no money to nobody! I swear, I’m a decent sort, I –”

“Will you be quiet!?”

Izzy didn’t know who this cop was, but he had to be somebody important to make the whole block go quiet. Her breath caught as an intricate ebony cane eased out from behind the column, followed by a pair of thin legs in crisp black pants and a suit jacket made of more of the same. His nose, lips, and face were all thin, and his eyes were dark brown and glinting. His dark hair, though, even streaked with grey as it was, looked like it would be soft to the touch. Izzy sobbed, trying to force the insane thought out of her head.

“I’m no cop, dearie,” he muttered mockingly, pen still held to the paper. She’d never heard a voice so elegant or steady, not even from the two gentlemen she’d conversed with tonight. ”Now, seeing that you’ve calmed down a bit, might you repeat the sentence you were calling out earlier? I believe you called your flowers ‘flars’.”

“You been listenin’ to me that long?” she cried, tugging again at the gentleman’s arms. ”But I ain’t done nothing wrong! I swear, I ain’t no trouble, I ain’t - “

“Hush!” The man shook his head and gave the man at her side a mock-pitying smile. “Quite a nuisance, aren’t they?”

Her tophatted gentleman frowned. “The only nuisance around here, sir, seems to be you. It’s cruel, dictating this girl’s words when it’s clear she doesn’t want them written down. Besides, the weather is rather poor, and I’m sure you would much rather be home. I’ll even call you a cab, if you please.”

The man didn’t move an inch. He stayed perfectly still, head cocked to the side and eyes scrunched as if he was trying to solve a difficult problem. “Park Street, Hertfordshire,” he said slowly, “Bombay for about five years… and, more recently, Wunderlund, Germany.”

“What are you going on about?” the young gentleman asked. Izzy couldn’t help but be a bit relieved – it seemed she wasn’t the only one who thought this cop was off his rocker.

“Those are the places you hail from, correct? I’m sure I didn’t miss anything.”

The man took a step back from both her and the strange gentleman, eyes wide in shock. “How on earth do you know that?”

The man stepped forward with a tap of his cane and a dismissive shrug. “Simple – your vowels are clearly Hertford, you have a hint of the Indian’s bounce to your speech pattern, and I could tell you were straining to say ‘want’ just a moment ago instead of ‘vant’. Exotic, but still refined, I must say. This… woman,” he gestured to Izzy, “on the other hand, displays one of the most horrendous combinations of bad English I have yet heard. What is it, Westminster and Brisbane? What in God’s name made you leave Australia for Lisson Grove?”

“He knows where I live!” Izzy shouted, hoping someone would come to her aid. “He’s a bloody liar if ‘e says he ain’t come ‘ere to arrest me!”

“Hush! Dearie, how long will it take to beat into your thick skull that I’m not an officer?”

“If you ain’t no officer, then how d’you know where me and ‘im come from?”

“I’m a linguist, dearie,” he sneered. “It means that I’m an expert on various languages. More specifically, I’m a professor of phonetics. I can identify every city someone has lived in for the last ten years, regardless of gender or age, just by hearing them say their name.”

He moved as if to walk away, but the duster jumped in front of him, pulling on his jacket sleeve.”

“Do me, sir, do me! You’re so good at it, tell me where I’m from!”

The man sneered and pushed the duster away with his cane. “Mayall Road, Brixton, Lambeth. And your mother’s Irish.”

The duster gasped, as did everyone in the crowd around them. “Bloody ‘ell, ‘e’s bloomin’ right!” 

“Yes. And I would greatly appreciate not being interrupted in the future. Bloody ‘ell.” He shook his head and turned his eyes heavenward, muttering, “Why can’t the English learn to speak?” Izzy thought there was something funny about that; he said it is if he was mocking them all for having worse pronunciation than he did, but that didn’t make any sense. It was clear that all of them were just as English as he was, and vice versa. At least, all of them but her. 

“Phonetics, you said?” the man with the top hat asked. “You wouldn’t happen to know a Professor Gold, would you?”

The man chuckled, a dark sound that sent a shiver down her spine. “As luck would have it, you’ve found him.” He tipped his head. “At your service. Now, if you’d excuse me – ”

“But wait!” he interrupted, his eyes almost manic with excitement. “I’ve come all the way from Germany just to see you!”

“Well, you’re quite ironically out of place, as I was just headed to Germany myself. I’m off to see Colonel Jefferson Hatter. You might know him, he’s the author of _European Influence on Other Dialects_.”

“But that’s me!” he shouted, grabbing Gold’s hand. “I’m Colonel Jefferson Hatter!”

Gold laughed and allowed the colonel to aggressively shake his hand, stepping forward himself for a more formal introduction. The two were so obviously happy (at least, Colonel Hatter was; Gold seemed more or less annoyed, but she supposed that was as close to “happy” as the man got judging by his frown lines) that they missed the shocked murmuring from everyone in the crowd, including Izzy. Not over the ridiculously young colonel, though, unless you counted Ashley who was always talking about handsome young men. No, they were all rather more surprised at the presence of Professor Gold. Everyone on the block knew that name, but hardly for his teaching skills. Rather, he’d made quite a name for himself as an infamous but rarely seen moneylender who made interest rates you’d only agree to if you were stupid or desperate. Izzy had always thought he would look more like the Grim Reaper – after all, he was the main man that Moe French owed money to. Apart from the dark color of Gold’s suit, though, his clothing hardly resembled the black robes of death. He was also rather shorter than she’d expected.

With all of these thoughts running through her head, on top of the paranoia that still hadn’t left her, she was bound to say something foolish. She had a knack for that, clumsiness, and bad timing, and all three tended to happen together. At the very worst, she might trip into him and say something about her dad’s debts that might actually get her arrested. She grabbed at the first unrelated thing that came to mind.

“Ain’t you a bit young to be a colonel? And a writer to boot?”

“For all you know, miss, I might be nearing sixty,” he laughed, still shaking Gold’s hand. “You’d be amazed what modern medicine can do.”

“On that note, how is dear Victor?” Gold asked, withdrawing his hand. Izzy thought she was the only one who noticed him wipe it on his pant leg; it seemed the good professor wasn’t very fond of human contact.

“Never mind that, why were you writin’ down me words!” Izzy interrupted. 

“‘My’ words, dearie, ‘my’ words,” he corrected. “And, as I and Colonel Hatter have already said twice now I think, I’m a linguist.”

“No you ain’t, yer a moneylender! Ain’t a body two blocks over what don’t know that!”

“Yes, I’m professionally a ‘moneylender’,” he replied, cringing at her words. “Phonetics is more of hobby, if you will. Not that I really expect you to understand that. It seems like the only hobby these people are familiar with is imbibing one’s own weight in liquor.”

“I ain’t no drunk, if that’s what you’re hintin’.”

“See, colonel,” Gold continued, gesturing to her with his cane like she was a wall ornament, “this is exactly what I meant in our last letter. Do you know any ladies who would use such vulgar speech?”

“I know a few ladies who can drink me under the table,” he answered, causing a few of the people nearby to twitter into their hands. Gold only glared.

“My point is that it isn’t a person’s looks, breeding, or finances that dictate where they fall in society, it’s how they use their words. What bothers me is how very few English speaking people take advantage of this fact. It isn’t that our language is hard, and there’s only one we’re meant to learn. But look at the Swiss – industrial revolutionaries. They’re taught German, Italian, and French and they can speak all three perfectly! Yet I’ll be damned if I can find a single Englishman outside of myself and a few select others who can actually speak our single, solitary language.”

“Not to mention the Irish an’ Scots,” somebody muttered in the background, causing everyone to laugh. “Might as well be speakin’ Gaelic still.”

A muscle twitched in Gold’s cheek, but, again, Izzy thought she might’ve been the only one that noticed. He shook it off, though, and turned back to her. 

“Take this girl.”

“Izzy French,” she corrected, crossing her arms in front of her. She figured that, if she was already in trouble with Gold, there was nothing she could really do to get out of it and she might as well sell herself the rest of the way down the river. Still, she couldn’t keep from shivering when Gold gave her an appraising look, head to toe, almost like he could see straight through her.

“Miss French, then,” he finally said. “Suppose I were to teach her proper English. Why, within a week, if she had a sharp mind and a good tongue, I could have her working in a real florist’s shop.”

“Go’n,” she snorted.

“Listen to her! Go’n, not go on. It’s an absolute crime! But I assure you, colonel, given enough effort, I could convince absolutely anyone that this girl’s blood was bluer than the violets in her basket.”

Izzy almost laughed. This man may be a magician with words, but he wasn’t magic enough to make her a lady. Was he?

She wanted to kick herself for letting the thought enter her mind. Daydreams weren’t for the working hours, especially not the impossible kind that made you have idle hopes. That was her father’s vice, and she’d be damned if she let herself get addicted to it, too. 

“Where are you staying?” Gold questioned, interrupting her from her thoughts as he went back to Colonel Hatter.

“I’ve no idea,” the colonel laughed, “I hadn’t thought that far ahead.”

“I assure you, no room on this block is worth breathing in, much less staying the night. You’ll live with me while you’re here.” 

The two men walked off, babbling about things that Izzy had no understanding of at all. They’d barely taken a few steps, though, when Gold turned around, digging around in his suit jacket as he walked back. He knelt next to her as best as he could with a lame leg and dropped a few coins in her basket. “For any inconvenience,” he muttered, tipping his hat to her. As he walked away, a small card slipped from his pocket, and Izzy immediately reached for it. “Professor R. Gold, Appt. 27A Wimpole Street,” it said, each word decorated with a flourish. She raised it high, heading forward to return it to him, but his cab was already speeding down the street. 

She didn’t know how long she stood there, hand in the air and basket at her feet. Eventually, though, someone bumped into her, causing another minor spill of flowers. Her gaze dropped, ready to call it quits for the Garden and go back to the gentlemen’s club, but there weren’t just violets scattered on the ground. Several shiny coins winked at her on the street, clearly the ones that Gold had given her. She quickly counted them up, and almost had a heart attack when she reached the final tally: it was more than twice the amount she was likely to get in a week.

Beaming so wide that her chapped lips split, she picked up her skirts and skipped back to Lisson Grove. Lady or not, she could eat like a queen with this money. Maybe she could even afford a few chocolates…


	2. Wouldn't It Be Loverly?

Accustomed to Her Face (2/15)  
Title: Chapter 2: Wouldn’t It Be Loverly?

Rating: PG-13, for the time being (mostly due to Moe and Mulan)

Author’s Note: And here’s where I begin taking a few liberties with the plot. I insisted that most of the main characters from OUAT be included here, despite the fact that there are really only 4 in “My Fair Lady”, so I shoved in a couple of extras. Hopefully it doesn’t detract too greatly from the story. And, as I said earlier (I think; I can’t remember if that was in one of the posts tumblr deleted or not), I intend to publish every other day. At the most, I’ll have to push it to once a week, but no more than that.

 

Izzy wiped off her shoes on the stoop, whistling and shaking her pockets to hear the coins jingle. Rose would be so happy – this kind of cash meant that Mulan wouldn’t have to do her night shifts for awhile.

The locks snapped and bolted into place when she pushed against the door. She was glad that winter was over, for the cold tended to make the door stick and not shut right. With a roll of her shoulders, she stripped off her wet overdress, hanging it on the coat rack with the few other measly clothes they owned. Rose would need a new coat soon; the one she had was full of more holes than her knit hat. She gave the rest of the room a quick once-over. The window over the sink would need washing soon, and the sink itself needed cleaning. Before next winter, they’d all need new boots. Only the red stain on the carpet would need her immediate attention, or else they’d have to risk it seeping into the wood. 

Izzy stopped in her tracks and looked back down. It wasn’t just a stain – it was blood. 

“Mulan?”

“She’s in ‘ere, Izzy,” Rose answered, and that didn’t calm her nerves a bit. “I’m boilin’ some water, could you make us a cuppa?”

Izzy nodded, though she knew neither of her flat mates could see her. If nothing else, she could always be trusted to make a good cup of tea for anyone who needed it. And she knew without a doubt that Mulan needed something. 

Just as she’d dressed like a boy in her youth, Mulan spent her days disguised as man, working the docks with other the other twenty-somethings in the neighborhood. Nights, though, she was forced to roam the streets with the dregs of female society. Prostitution was the only real option for an Asian woman in the East End. Not that it was any different in Australia; she and Izzy both considered her lucky that Moe’s tastes never ran towards children.

The kettle whistled, and Izzy hastened to get the rest of the tea things underway. Mulan liked a lot of sugar, but she’d need sleep if the worst had really happened. She poured a shot of their cheap gin into the cup to compensate. 

“Comin’ in, loves,” she called, nudging open the door with her back.

She was glad, when she finally turned around, that she’d entered the room backwards; she likely would’ve dropped the tea things otherwise. The whole left side of Mulan’s face was covered in blood, which Rose was dutifully trying to mop up, and the nails on both of her hands were split and muddy. Rose shot her a warning look, silently telling her not say anything. But Izzy didn’t need to ask what happened, and wouldn’t have anyway.

“Here ya’are. Nice hot cup o’ chamomile tay.”

She propped her friend up to help her drink. 

“Thanks Izzy,” she whispered, her throat raw. “I’ll feel better tomorrow, I promise.”

“Don’t you worry bout it. You’re not workin’ till I say you can, understood?”

“But what of the rent?” 

“It’s covered.” Izzy finally had something to smile about. “Very gen’rous customers tonight.” 

Mulan tried to smile back, but her head only sank further into the pillows. Izzy and Rose shared a nervous look, but the both stood up to give her some peace. 

“We’ll let ya rest, hon,” Rose whispered, kissing Mulan’s forehead. 

In the time it took them to walk to the door, Mulan was already asleep, wheezing and whimpering under the covers. Izzy pushed the thought from her mind and went straight back to the kettle, heating up more water for her and Rose. Rose, though, didn’t seem as capable of forgetting.

“She can’t keep this up, Izzy. I’ve got to get work meself, even if it’s just sellin’ flars with you.”

“Rose, you know you can’t work,” Izzy disagreed. “Not with your condition.”

“Damn my condition, she ain’t getting’ mixed up with those sorry bastards no more!”

“I agree. And the two of us will figure somethin’ out what don’t involve you workin’.”

“Izzy, it’s just a sleepin’ problem, I can handle it!”

“You fall over dead without warnin’ all hours of the day, Rose, that’s ‘ardly handlin’ it! An’ what happens if somebody slips you somethin’ while yer out, hmm?”

“Don’t you dare go there! Just cause mum used doesn’t mean I will.”

“Rose, she had you so moshed when we moved in with you that ya didn’t know yer own name half the time. I’m not about to let you put yerself in a situation where that could happen again.” Izzy hesitated over the gin bottle, but finally decided to keep it out; the way things were going, they’d both need some. “It was bad enough havin’ to break you off it when you was nine, I ain’t doin’ it again. I can’t stand to see you like that, shiverin’ and cryin’ and –”

Rose groaned and cut her off. “Fine, fine. But we’re finishin’ this in the mornin’.”

Izzy nodded, knowing that this was as close to a victory as she would get, and poured another shot into each of their cups. “Sure.” She took a long sip of her tea and closed her eyes, not trusting herself to talk until she’d counted to twenty. “So… how was yer day, apart from this mess?”

Rose rolled her eyes at the poor attempt to change subjects, but she played along. “Fair. Mum dropped by fer a few hours around noon.”

“And what’d she have to say?”

“Nothin’ much. Mostly just naggin’.” Rose swirled her tea around then looked up at Izzy through her eyelashes. “Yer dad ain’t gotten ahold of you lately, has ‘e?”

“Naw, thank the Lord,” Izzy answered. “He got banged up in the jail a while back for ‘is debts, you know that.”

“Not what I heard, Izzy,” Rose disagreed, sipping her doctored tea. “Mum said ‘e came nosin’ around last night tryin’ ta get back in ‘er good books.”

Izzy shook her head. “Thought dad had more sense ‘an to get mixed up with yer mum again. No ‘ffense meant, Rose.”

“None taken. Mum’s a right old hag, no use pretendin’ otherwise. But hey, if they hadn’t started livin’ together the first place, we wouldn’t’ve been sisters, now, would we?”

She smiled and grabbed Rose’s hand, squeezing her fingers tight. Rose was too optimistic for her own good. Just another reason Izzy and Mulan refused to let her get a glimpse of the real world. 

“You’re sweet.”

“I know,” Rose grinned, flashing all of her teeth. “But anyway, ya never told me bout this extra money ya got tonight.”

Izzy almost coughed on her tea. “I almost forgot. ‘ere.” She fished out the coins from her dress and laid them on the table. “And I only sold a white rose.”

Rose’s eyes dropped and shifted just briefly toward the bedroom. “Izzy, you didn’t.”

“Course not! I hock flars, not my body, you twit.”

“Sorry, sorry. Well, if it weren’t that, where’d you get ‘em?”

Izzy leaned in close, grinning conspiratorially. “Professor Gold.”

The name had the desired effect – Rose sprang back in shock, gasping and clutching at her chest. “Not ‘im! That’s even worse than whorin’ yerself about, Izzy! He charges an arm an’ a leg!”

“Not for this. ‘e handed this over just for upsettin’ me.”

Rose’s eyes grew even wider, and she scooted in for a good story. Izzy bit back her smile and recounted the whole thing, from running into Mr. Wayne-Booth to finding Gold’s card on the ground. She even offered it for Rose’s perusal to prove that she was telling the truth. When Rose had finally looked her fill, she set the card down on their mantle and sat back down on the settee.

“Well, ‘e sounds awful rude to me. Makin’ a fool of you in front o’ all them people. I might like that Hatter fella, though. Batty or not, ‘e at least sounds like a gentleman.”

Izzy giggled. “That’s not all of it, though. Gold, ‘e said he could turn me into a real lady with just a few of ‘is lessons.”

“I don’t think ‘e’d be after a ‘few lessons’ if you turned up at ‘is doorstep, Izzy.”

She slapped Rose on the arm, but that only made her laugh. “I’m only jokin’. Well, mostly jokin’.”

“ ‘e ain’t hardly my type, Rose.” She looked up at the mantelpiece clock, surprised to find that it was almost midnight already. “Alright, time fer bed.”

Rose huffed. “Half the time you’re gettin’ onto fer not wakin’ up, then, when I’m awake, I ought to be asleep.”

“That’s life, Rose. Best get used to it.” She walked over to her book chest, the only things of vanity she allowed herself, looking for something to read herself to sleep with. “Will you be alright sleepin’ with Mulan, or do you want the couch tonight?”

“I’ll be fine.” Izzy took out a large, ratty volume and shut the box lid. She almost laughed when she heard Rose’s groan.

“Not Tenn-ee-son again, Izzy.”

“It’s Tennyson, Rose. And yes, ‘im again. ‘e’s the only real love o’ my life.”

“You say the same thing about that Hugo bloke you read so much of.” Rose’s eyes turned sly, and she nudged Izzy’s shoulder as she headed back to Mulan’s room. “If you was a real lady, you wouldn’t need all them characters and writer men. You could ‘ave yer pick o’ the whole city.”

“No thanks, Rose, I’m fine as is.” She thumbed through the dog eared book.

“All them fancy dresses, then Izzy. You’d look so pretty.”

Izzy hummed, not really paying attention. Rose tried harder.

“If you was rich, you could ‘ave a whole library full o’ books, Izzy. Full of Tenn-ee-son and Austen and them other writers ya like. Just think of it!”

She didn’t stop to think of it, not when Mulan was laid up in the back bedroom. She flipped through to “St. Agnes’ Eve” and lay down on the couch. “Wouldn’t that be loverly. Night, Rose.”

“Night, Izzy.”


	3. With a Little Bit of Luck

Accustomed to Her Face (3/15)  
Title: Chapter 3: With a Little Bit of Luck

Rating: PG-13 for the time being (again, only because of Moe’s drug use)

Author’s Note: As you can see, I’ve added a couple of chapter to the final count. I don’t think I’ll add or take away any more, but I promise nothing (mostly because I know that I’ll change my mind as soon as I do). Oh, and speaking of broken promises, unforeseen family stuff has forced me to put off writing the fourth and fifth chapters for at least a week. 

Anyway, here’s the chapter where things actually start to get interesting. At least, I hope it is - I still don’t quite know how well this is going over with the readers. Alright, well, I’ll let you get on with it :)

 

_Izzy made her way into the grand ballroom, sweeping her skirts to and fro and nodding at the people she passed by. Men looked on her with adoration, women with affectionate envy, and she smiled at them all on her way to the throne. She inclined her head regally at the king, who immediately lifted her chin and kissed her hand._

_“Oh, Izzy, darling, you look absolutely splendid!”_

_“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Izzy said with a curtsy. “You’re looking dashing, as always.”_

_Someone tapped her shoulder, and Izzy turned to see a rich young man holding out a book to her. “Might I have your opinion on this passage of Tolstoy, Lady French? I can’t quite wrap my mind around it?”_

_“Of course, sir, just give me a moment to make my rounds.”_

_“Yes, do pardon me. Here’s a peony for your troubles.”_

_Another man shoved him out of the way, a whole bouquet of pink lilies in hand. “For you, miss?”_

_Then another with crocuses, and begonias, and gardenias, and – ___

__Knock, knock, knock!_ _

__Izzy jolted off the settee, sending her copy of Tennyson flying to the floor. She shook her head at the wrinkled pages and was careful of the bent spine when she placed it back into her trunk._ _

_Knock, knock!_

__“Yes, I’ll be there in a mo’!” she called, quietly as she could. She tiptoed to the back bedroom, glad that the door was open so she wouldn’t have to turn the creaking doorknob. A quick check ensured that both Rose and Mulan were sound asleep, wrapped around each other for warmth. Her slight smile at the sight turned into a frown when the knocking continued, and she shut them in just in case._ _

__She cussed herself for dreaming of pretty gowns and balls when she had a little sister and best friend to take care of. It was absolutely stupid and selfish, and she rubbed her fists against her eyes to clear the visions out. She’d never be presented to the king, whatever her mind told her, and it was best she just forget it._ _

__Knock, knock, knock!_ _

__“Hold yer horses!” she muttered, shoving on her dressing gown. She made sure that the chain was still firmly in place before unlocking all the bolts and elbowing open the door. She wished she’d just stayed asleep._ _

__“ ‘ello, love! Miss yer old man?”_ _

__Izzy cringed. Her own accent she could almost excuse, even after Professor Gold’s not-so-subtle criticism of her. After all, she was only eight when Moe moved them to Westminster, and her youth plus the twelve years she’d spent in the neighborhood were bound to have an effect on her. But Moe was nearing forty when they’d hopped on the ship for England, and clearly affected half of what he said so that he’d purposely sound like the rest of the people on their block. Really, though, the most embarrassing thing about her dad’s voice was that he honestly thought he sounded high-class. At least Izzy could own up to her life situation._ _

__“What d’you want, dad?”_ _

__“Hey, I won’t ‘ave none of that back-talk,” he snapped, slipping his arm into the door so she couldn’t close it on him. “You ain’t too old fer me to put you over my knee an’ give you a good lashin’. Yer not gonna tell me you ain’t missed yer dad, Izzy?”_ _

__Izzy sighed, fishing into her shift pockets for the spare change she kept there. “Missin’ yer dad” always meant “hand over yer money” in Moe’s language, and it was always better to give him what he wanted before he could get too riled up. Besides, it would be more than worth giving him her chocolate money if it meant he’d stay away for awhile._ _

__“Here dad, two pence. Now, could ya –”_ _

__“ ‘old on a bloody minute!” he roared, unlatching the chain on her door and pushing his way in. “This ain’t all by half! That Boyd girl told me you fell into some money last night. Can’t believe you’d try to cheat yer old man outta ‘is rightful money!”_ _

__Izzy bit her tongue – it was her rightful money, not hiss, and she sure as hell wasn’t going to let him waste it all on drugs and alcohol. She did make a note to talk to Ashley, though; sweet or not, Izzy wouldn’t put up with her spouting her mouth off to Moe every time she got a nice tip._ _

__“Now, ya gonna let yer old man in, or not? Why, it’s downright insultin’, bein’ left out on the stoop like some common creep!”_ _

__One of the girls snored in the back room, and Izzy’s cheeks flared red._ _

__“Dad, you’ve got to be quiet!”_ _

__“Why, yer sister in there?” Moe snorted. “Lazy bitch needs to learn how to wake up an’ do fer ‘er own bloody self.”_ _

__Izzy was tempted to slam the door in his face for that, but he’d already come swanning in, shrewdly scanning the room for any trace of loose coins._ _

__“Where d’you keep yer stash, anyway, Izzy?”_ _

__“That’s all the money I got, dad,” Izzy insisted, fingers crossed and tucking all of her change as tight into her pockets as possible. “Already told ya. Ashley doesn’t know what she’s talkin’ about. Why don’t ya go ask Missus Briar?”_ _

__“Already been to see yer stepmother, thank ya,” he huffed, opening her trunk and scowling at the sight of so many books. “An’ she’s too moshed on that laud-ee-num junk to be o’ much use in the money department. An’ I’m startin’ to believe you ain’t got no more money. Wasted it all on books, ‘ave you?”_ _

__Izzy frowned – Rose’s mum was usually a surefire way to distract him, if for no other reason than he was usually furious with her._ _

__“Wait, what’s this?”_ _

__For a moment, Izzy worried that he’d found the money Professor Gold had given her, but a quick check in her pockets assured that all the big coins were still in her shift. She wasn’t wrong about it being Professor Gold’s, though – Rose had left his business card on the table._ _

__“ ‘t ain’t nothin’, dad. Here, just let me –”_ _

__Moe yanked the card away, holding it off to the side. She could see his lips moving as he read the words to himself. He couldn’t resist letting it flutter dramatically to the ground when he was done; always one for theatrics, Moe._ _

__“Izzy, you didn’t,” he whispered, eyes tight on her face. “Izzy, that man is a scoundrel and a cheat. He’ll ‘ave you locked up in the poorhouse as soon as look at ya. I won’t ‘ave my girl be taken advantage of!”_ _

__If Izzy was more sentimental, perhaps a little less shrewd when it came to her father, she might’ve been touched by his concern. As it was, though, she knew that Moe’s worry about her money was really worry about his own. He’d never get a real job, and if he was right about Missus Briar, than she really was his only source of income. Her eyes narrowed at him._ _

__“I’m not bein’ taken advantage of, dad,” she said, calmly taking the card back from him and stuffing it in her pocket. “I’m not even dealin’ with ‘im. He just dropped ‘is card in the street yesterday an’ he left afore I could return it.”_ _

__Moe sighed in relief. “Good. You ‘ad me worried there, Izzy.” He clapped his hands together and gave her his “winning” smile. “But now I know you did run into ‘im last night, I’ll have me money, thank you.”_ _

__“I already told ya, dad,” Izzy groaned, “I ain’t got no money fer you. Why’re you so desperate for cash?”_ _

__“I ain’t desperate, Izzy, I just want what’s comin’ to me! Now ‘and it over!”_ _

__Izzy frowned. Her dad was a right old bum, no question about it, but he wasn’t usually this frantic about getting money. Even his eyes were clouded with his urgency. Clouded… it clicked into place._ _

__“Dad, what’ve you been into since you got out?”_ _

__Moe shifted anxiously in his seat. “What d’you mean, Izzy?”_ _

__“You know exactly what I mean, dad, what drugs ‘ave you got yerself into?”_ _

__“Drugs!” he laughed, though his eyes only clouded more. “I ain’t got a clue what yer –”_ _

__“No, dad, tell me. What is it this time? More opium? Absinthe?”_ _

__“Izzy, I ain’t –”_ _

__“Morphine? Pills? You takin’ laudanum with Missus Briar? What, dad? What’re you on?”_ _

__“Alright, alright!” he yelled, throwing his arms in the air. Izzy glanced nervously at the bedroom, but it didn’t seem like either Rose or Mulan had woken up. “I got this stuff from a Columbian bloke a couple days ago. Coca-cigarettes, he said.”_ _

__“Coca – you don’t mean cocaine, do you?”_ _

__Moe shrugged. “Well, anyway, stuff’s more expensive than what I’m used to. So I went to yer dear old professor fer another loan, but ‘e said ‘e wouldn’t give me nothing til I paid all me bills. Turns out I still owe ‘im some money.”_ _

__“He ain’t my dear old anythin’, dad. And I’ve told you an ‘undred times already, I ain’t got no money for you.”_ _

__He jumped to his face, pointing a pudgy finger at her face. “Now you listen ‘ere, girl. I ain’t raised you by me lonesome since you was six to have you be so bloody ungrateful.”_ _

__Izzy fumed, but she bit her tongue to keep from retaliating. “I’m not being ungrateful, dad. I really just don’t have no money for you.”_ _

__Moe seemed to expand in his anger, taking up a good half of the settee on his own. “If you don’t give up what’s comin’ to me, I’ll… I’ll… I’ll have you and yer sister kicked out!”_ _

__Izzy gasped and immediately berated herself for it – she needed to look strong now, not like a fainting damsel in distress. “It ain’t in your name, you can’t!”_ _

__“Just watch me, Izzy,” he replied with grim satisfaction. “You an’ Rose ain’t big girls, me boots won’t ‘ave too much to fight with.”_ _

__Izzy tried not to be shocked. She knew her father wasn’t the best man, but that he literally meant to kick them out of their own house was too much. “Please, dad –”_ _

__“Please nothin’. Now, assumin’ I did me math right, an’ I’m sure I did, I owe Gold three pounds an’ I owe the Columbian one. A week ought to be enough fer you to collect me dues.”_ _

__“Four pounds in a week? Dad, it’s a lucky month fer me if I make four pounds! How d’you expect me to make that kind o’ money in just a week?”_ _

__“Yer a smart girl, Izzy, figure somethin’ out.” He gave her a once over, eyes squinted. “If nothin’ else, yer pretty. Sure a few o’ the blokes down the gentlemen’s club wouldn’t mind havin’ you fer a night.”_ _

__Izzy could do nothing but sputter and blink as he headed for the door, stopping only at the mantelpiece when he saw three coins Izzy has stupidly left sitting there. He ought to try looking for leprechauns, she thought, good as he was at finding coins._ _

__“Ta, love.”_ _

__For a few minutes, all Izzy could do was stand in place, her only movements being a twitch in her cheek and a violent shaking in her arms. When it came to Moe, she was usually a step ahead in the game; her dad was a creature of habit, so she just had to be aware of which part in his drugs-money-arrest-bail cycle he was in. Now, though… now, she had no idea what to do._ _

__It was just as likely that, after a few drinks, he’d be so slobbering drunk he couldn’t remember his own name, much less his threat. But that wasn’t a risk she was willing to take. Somehow, she’d have to scrounge up four pounds in seven days or find somewhere for her, Rose, and Mulan to hide. The latter would be near impossible, she knew – Missus Briar would never let them stay with her, and the only boarding houses she knew of were as bad as the old opium dens. With a little bit of a luck and even more time, she might be able to figure something out, but luck and time weren’t things she had an excess of. Getting the money was her only option… and there was only one job in London where a girl of her breeding could earn that much. But then she thought of Mulan, laid up in bed covered in bruises in blood. No – none of them were going to resort to prostitution after that. There had to be something else._ _

__“Who was that, Izzy?”_ _

__Izzy spun around and crossed her fingers behind her back. “Who was what?”_ _

__“At the door. I heard somebody.”_ _

__“No, nobody here. Did you sleep well?”_ _

__Rose shrugged. “I s’pose. Mulan’s runnin’ a bit of a fever, I think. She was burnin’ up all night.” She and Izzy’s eyes both fell on the bedroom door. “Good thing you got all that money last night. We might ‘ave to get her some medicine. I just hope it’s not to do with ‘er John. If he ‘ad a disease…”_ _

__Rose didn’t need to finish the sentence – if he had a disease and Mulan had caught it, they both knew she might as well be dead. Extra change or no, that kind of money would be perpetually out of their price range. Just another problem to deal with._ _

__She couldn’t think in their dark little flat. If nothing else, going out might provide her with an opportunity or at least some inspiration to help her out._ _

__“I’m gonna step out, Rose. Could ya lock the door behind me an’ look after Mulan? Worst comes to worst, just make sure she’s sittin’ up and you’ve got plenty o’ cold water for ‘er head.”_ _

__Rose blinked, surprised. “Izzy, it ain’t but nine in the mornin’. Where could you possibly be headed off to?”_ _

__“Nowhere, really, just a walk.” She was tempted to put on her heavy coat, cold as it was, but it was ratty and smelt of the street. She wrinkled her nose and donned her pretty pink shawl instead. Regardless of where she ended up going, it wouldn’t do to make a bad first impression. “I’ll be back fore noon.”_ _

__She gave Rose a quick hug and marched out the door, waiting for the tale-tell sound of bolts slamming into their locks before she started walking. She was careful not to pull out her money in the street where any urchin could reach out and take it, but a quick touch to each of the coins told her how much she had. Nine shillings and two pence. It had seemed like so much the night before; now it felt like nothing. Something else in her pockets poked at her thigh, though, and she almost tripped when she realized what it was._ _

__It was Gold’s card._ _

__She leaned back against the wall. If there was one piece of Moe’s advice that Izzy actually took to heart, it was “never make a deal with Gold”. From what she’d heard, going to him for help would be almost as bad as selling her soul. Still, it wasn’t as bad as selling their bodies. She hoped._ _

__“Right mess you’ve gotten yerself into, Izzy,” she muttered to herself. “Least it can’t get no worse.”_ _

__The sky answered with a roar of thunder, and Izzy laughed humorlessly. “Alright, maybe it can…”_ _

__———————————————————————————————————————-  
“Are there 22?”_ _

__Gold scoffed. “Are you even listening?”_ _

__“Yes, and I hear 22.”_ _

__Professor Gold released a long suffering sigh and stopped the recording. “172, colonel. There were 172 vowels.”_ _

__Hatter sighed himself and leaned back in his chair, arms and legs crossed like a petulant child. “Alright, there were 172, then. Might we stop now?”_ _

__Gold glared at the younger man but otherwise ignored him in favor of picking out another record. Despite the twenty-year gap between their ages, and the fact that they’d only ever written letters to each other previously, Gold had always considered the colonel to be his best (if not only) friend. Of course, now he thought he was beginning to understand that that was why they got on so well – they never had to talk to each other face-to-face. Still, Hatter was the only man this side of the Atlantic who shared his knowledge of dialects, and he wasn’t about to waste the opportunity to share studies with him._ _

__“Why don’t we take a break?” the colonel interrupted, not-so-subtly standing in front of the Victrola to stop him from putting on the next sound set. “We could have a drink, talk about women, pretend that we didn’t just waste the whole morning trying to count vowels –”_ _

__Knock knock._ _

__“Enter,” Gold called over his shoulder._ _

__A tall, thin blonde woman came in, straightening her plain black dress as she did. “Excuse me, professor, but there’s someone at the door for you.”_ _

__“Thank God,” Hatter sighed, pulling his top hat over his eyes and looking upwards in prayer. Gold glared at him but turned to his housekeeper nonetheless._ _

__“Who is it, Mrs. Nolan?”_ _

__His blonde housekeeper straightened her apron, shooting a half sympathetic and half mocking smile at the door. “A Miss French, sir.”_ _

__Gold’s eyebrows creased; he was exceptionally good with names, but the only French that came to mind was the druggie that owed him money. “I don’t believe I know a Miss French.”_ _

__“I should say not, sir. Her voice is absolutely ghastly.”_ _

__Now that rang a bell. “What does she look like?”_ _

__“It was hard to tell under all the dirt, to be honest,” Mrs. Nolan answered. “But she seems to have brown hair, and she’s rather thin for a grown woman.”_ _

__Hatter had come to the same conclusion he had, judging by the crease in his eyebrows. “Miss French… that’s the flower girl from last night, isn’t it?”_ _

__“Well, your flower girl is soaking wet in the foyer. Should I bring her in or send her back out?”_ _

__Gold turned to Hatter, hoping for once that he’d voice his usually loud opinion on the subject. As it was, all he got out of the man was a shrug. He huffed and rubbed the bridge of his nose – today was shaping up to be a very long day indeed. “I suppose it wouldn’t do any harm. Go ahead, Mrs. Nolan.”_ _

__She gave him a slight curtsy and shut the door behind her, leaving the two men in the silence of the library. At least, it was silent for a moment. Hatter’s laughter broke it up mere seconds after she left, and Gold turned so he could keep him in his sight – nothing that made him make that noise could be good._ _

__“What’s so funny?”_ _

__The colonel was practically rolling on the floor he was chuckling so hard. “You know what she’s come here for, don’t you, Gold?”_ _

__Gold replaced the record he’d taken out, feigning total disinterest. “I haven’t the foggiest.”_ _

__“Gold, don’t you remember what you told her last night?”_ _

__He actually had to pause and think about that for a moment. The only thing that came to mind was her screaming at him out of some strange belief that he was a cop. “I’m afraid not.”_ _

__Hatter wiped the tears from his eyes, holding his chest to try and reign himself in. “You told her that you could make her into a lady with just a week’s worth of English lessons.”_ _

__Gold almost dropped the recording. He had said that, hadn’t he? For once, it seemed, words might have actually brought harm upon him instead of someone else. “You don’t think she thought I was serious, do you?”_ _

__Hatter guffawed again. Hardly reassuring. “Oh, this will be interesting to watch. She’s a spitfire, this Miss French. I say she’ll give you a run for your money.”_ _

__Gold glared at him, but, again, was cut short from responding by a knock on the door. He didn’t even wait for Mrs. Nolan to make introductions before heading the poor girl off._ _

__“I’m sorry, Miss French, but I’m not taking on any students at the moment. I’d be happy to recommend you to a colleague. Good day.”_ _

__He heard the door snap shut behind him and sighed in relief. When he turned, though, she was still standing there, just as wet as Mrs. Nolan had implied. He didn’t remember her being so small, or so dirty. She was practically caked from head to toe in dirt, her cheeks and hands especially smudged with the dark stains. Then again, she’d been trying so hard to either hit or run away from him the only other time he’d seen her that he was surprised he remembered anything about her appearance._ _

__“Did you not hear me, girl?” He wondered if she was mentally deficient; it would certainly explain how she confused him for a police officer. “I can’t teach you.”_ _

__“It… it isn’t that, sir.” She took a deep breath and fiddled with her thumbs. He wrinkled his nose at them – even though it had been pouring down rain outside, her hands were positively caked with soot and dirt. “I mean, I didn’t come ‘ere fer English lessons. I… need some ‘elp. See, me dad owes you some money, an’ I came to ask that he be given a bit more time to pay the dues.”_ _

__“And who is your father?”_ _

__She cocked her head to the side as if surprised that he didn’t know. “Moe French, sir.”_ _

__Gold hummed under his breath. He really should’ve known they were father and daughter, considering they were the only people he knew whose last name was French and they both had underlying Australian accents. Even filthy and dripping wet, though, the girl hardly looked like she could’ve come from the lowlife that owed him so much money for his drug habits._ _

__“I’m afraid I’m not in the habit of giving extensions on debts, either.” He turned to the side, dusting off his selected record. “Mrs. Nolan will show you outside.”_ _

__A quick glance in her direction showed that she was still standing in the doorway. It was beginning to get on his nerves._ _

__“So, that’s it?” she asked. “Yer not even gonna hear me out?”_ _

__“I don’t see any reason that I should,” he muttered, leaning heavily against his cane. “Though I must say, dearie, I’m glad you only came here about a loan instead of lessons.”_ _

__She crossed her arms tightly in front of her. He was beginning to think it was her main defense mechanism. “An’ why is that?”_ _

__“I thought it would be obvious,” he answered, gesturing to her attire. “I could never turn… you, into a lady. You’re not cut out for it in the least.”_ _

__She looked like she wanted to slap him for that, but they were cut off before she could even open her mouth._ _

__“Would you be willing to bet on that?”_ _

__Gold spun around. “What was that, Hatter?”_ _

__The young man rolled his hat between his fingers and shot him a smug little smile. “I said, would you be willing to bet on that?”_ _

__The girl let out a quick intake of breath, obviously just as confused by this turn of events as he was, but he opted to ignore her. “I don’t make bets, colonel.”_ _

__“A deal, then. You’ll teach this girl proper English, and I’ll pay for all of her lessons.”_ _

__“That’s hardly an enticement. You see, in order to make a deal, both parties must have something the other wants, and I’m afraid that nothing you have fits that bill.”_ _

__The colonel slumped in defeat, his hat riding low on his brow._ _

__“Professor,” the girl coughed, stepping a little further into the room. He could tell she was terrified, shaking like a leaf, and couldn’t figure out why she didn’t just leave when she was that worried. “If you won’t pay off me dad’s debts, could you do somethin’ else fer me?”_ _

__The girl just didn’t let up, did she? It was a rare occasion indeed for people to confuse him, but Gold honestly couldn’t decide whether or not to be enraged or impressed with her. He held both emotions in check, though, and answered her calmly, “Go on.”_ _

__She took a deep breath, but it only seemed to make her shake harder. “Could you hire on me an’ me two flat mates? We’re used to sleepin’ together, so we won’t take that much room, an’ we’re all hard workers.”_ _

__Gold shook his head. “I have no need for more servants at the moment, Miss French. I’m afraid your flat mates and yourself will just have to find another solution.”_ _

__The girl looked absolutely heartbroken. It was almost enough to make him regret his decision. But he knew women, knew how treacherous they could be. More than likely, she and her roommates had brought the trouble on themselves._ _

__“Sorry to bother you, sir. I’ll just show meself out, then.”_ _

__Just as her hand touched the door handle, though, a tall black shape streaked across the room and grabbed her by the shoulders._ _

__“Hold on a moment, miss.” Hatter spun around, looking Gold straight in the eye. “I have an idea!”_ _

__“You aren’t still on about that bet idea of yours, are you?” Gold moaned._ _

__He nodded, eyes gleaming. Hatter always looked a little bit mad, but, right now, he looked like an escapee from bedlam. A weaker man might have been frightened by the look. Gold wasn’t, but he was still smart enough to be wary. “The Embassy Ball is in three-and-a-half month’s time, correct?”_ _

__Gold eyes narrowed to slits. He already knew he wouldn’t like where this was going. “Yes._ _

__“And didn’t you say just last night you could turn Miss French into a lady with just a week’s worth of training?”_ _

__Gold’s face, hard as stone, broke into mocking laugh. “You can’t be serious, Hatter. Take this girl to the Embassy Ball?”_ _

__“Why not?_ _

__“Why not? Colonel, if anyone else were in the room right now, they’d laugh you out of the city for even suggesting it.” Gold put away the record he’d just dusted off and turned to face the colonel head on. “And you’ve still rather missed the point that there has to be something in it for me, too.”_ _

__“Alright then, you want an ‘enticement’, Gold? How’s this – if you can convince Queen Mary Marghereta that Miss French is a real lady, I’ll send a letter to Chess and buy us two tickets for the States.”_ _

__Gold faltered. Hatter had to know just how tempting that offer was, especially if the way he smirked and tipped his top hat back was anything to go by._ _

__“Come on, Gold,” he goaded. “A master at finding people at your fingertips, willing to go to any lengths for you. You can’t let that offer slip through your hands. And at least this way things might be a little interesting. Better than trying to count vowels day in and day out, anyway.”_ _

__Gold hated to admit it, but Hatter was right – he couldn’t let this opportunity pass by. He’d been trying for years to convince the colonel to use his less-than-legal contact Chess to help him out, but Hatter had point-blank refused. As he’d said in multiple letters, doing so could potentially get him discharged, or, even worse, executed. But he still asked in every letter. He had everything else that he could ever want – power, money, prestige. All he needed was to find someone. A very specific someone. And now, Hatter was finally offering him the chance._ _

__He gulped, cringing at how loud it sounded to his own ears. “And if I lose?”_ _

__Hatter smirked. “We’ll worry about that if and when it comes up.”_ _

__His moved his knuckles to his temples, massaging away the headache he was starting to get. “Alright. I accept.”_ _

__“Hold on just one bloomin’ minute!” the girl shouted behind him. He jumped – he’d forgotten she was even there. “It’s my life, an’ I’m not about to ‘ave two total strangers mess around with it. No one gets to decide my fate but me!”_ _

__Gold was about to berate her for her rudeness, but the colonel jumped in. “She has a point, Gold. She has just as much say in this as we do, if not more. We should all sit down and talk about the details.”_ _

__“No, I’ll talk with her,” he corrected. “Regardless of however you decide to pester us along the way, this deal is between me and Miss French alone.”_ _

__He could tell that the young man was about to argue, but the look Gold gave him said very plainly that it wasn’t up for debate. “Fine. Point taken,” he huffed, bouncing himself out of the seat and kissing Miss French’s hand. “It was a pleasure seeing you again, miss.” He headed for the door but stopped at the Victrola, turning to look curiously at the young girl. “Before I leave you alone with the professor, though, might you answer a question for me?”_ _

__“Yes, sir.”_ _

__“How many vowels do you hear in this recording?”_ _

__Gold smacked the needle off the record, making the long “eeeee” scratch across the air. “Out!”_ _

__The colonel smiled and gave Belle a jaunty wave before exiting to the kitchen. He saw her giggle at him out of the corner of his eye, and he sharply reproached her with his eyes. She gave out a nervous cough and stopped, though the smile stayed on her lips._ _

__“What was the colonel goin’ on about, sir?” she inquired. “Can’t you get to America on yer own? An’ who’re you lookin’ for?”_ _

__“It doesn’t especially concern you, Miss French,” he replied coldly. He was surprised to see that she didn’t flinch from him in the slightest._ _

__“I think it concerns me if I’m gonna be part o’ this harebrained scheme.”_ _

__A muscle was beginning to twitch in his jaw – no one had ever talked back to him like this, and certainly not in so horrible a voice._ _

__“Dearie, if I’m to be your teacher, I’m to be treated with respect. So if I say that something isn’t of any concern to you, you will be quiet. Understood?”_ _

__He could see her figuratively biting her tongue to keep from lashing out at him. “Understood. Sir.”_ _

__Gold smirked. “Good.” He lent back in his wing-backed chair gesturing for her to do the same on the sofa across from him. She did, albeit reluctantly, and he tried not to be too irritated at the wet stain that grew from her pink shawl onto the upholstery._ _

__“What does concern you, dearie, are the terms of this little agreement. I assume that you aren’t deaf, but I’ll repeat what the colonel and I discussed just in case you missed anything.”_ _

__Her eyes narrowed, but she said nothing in retaliation. Gold nodded smugly._ _

__“Should you agree to take part in this project, I will teach you how to talk, walk, dress, and act like a proper English lady. It will not be easy, nor will it be particularly fun, but, if I deem you fit, the colonel and I will escort you to the Embassy Ball at the end of May. You might even get to speak with the king and queen, if you’ve progressed well enough. After that, you can have your pick of anything you want the world over.” He settled back, making sure that his face had taken on a grim look to fit his next words. “However, there is another way that this situation could go. I won’t have you thinking that the only result will be champagne and caviar. It won’t. Because, if you don’t succeed, if they find out that you aren’t of well-bred stock, you will be hung from a tower for all the peasantry to see and angels will weep for the cruelty they show you. So, the choice is yours – go back home and face your father, or have the potential to win or lose it all.”_ _

__He’d phrased his words carefully, putting as much emphasis as he could on the word “win” without losing his subtlety. If he’d done his job well, she would come to the conclusion that it wasn’t really a choice – learning from him would be a win-win situation for her, even if it resulted in her death. It would still provide her an escape from Moe’s clutches._ _

__He watched her as she shifted in her seat, eyes glued to her lap, but, finally, she lifted her gaze to his. She moved slowly, barely tilting her head an inch, but it was still a nod of assent. A knot of tension in his neck released._ _

__“I’ll do it. I’ll let you teach me how to speak proper.”_ _

__“It’s forever, dearie.” Much as he liked seeing the dregs of society fall, he had something riding on this bet and he wasn’t about to let her go into it lightly. “If you agree to this deal, your life will change in ways that you can hardly imagine. There won’t be any going back.”_ _

__“I know. An’ you didn’t let me finish.”_ _

__Gold’s brow crinkled. “What else could you possibly have to say?”_ _

__The girl bit her lip and looked at the ground. “Well, you get whatever it is in the States that you want, the colonel gets to laugh at us, but what do I get?”_ _

__He sneered at her. “And what, pray tell, do you want?”_ _

__She didn’t seem to get his sarcasm, or else she was ignoring it. “A couple things, really. Like I said before, that’s why I came ‘ere in the first place. Me flat mate is… well, she’s sick, sir, an’ me dad’s threatened to kick us out. I was hopin’ that maybe you could set us up with actual work somewhere, ladies’ maids an’ such. But it’ll just be the two of them now if I’m gonna live here. An’ the other thing I wanted, like I said, was fer you to cover dad’s debts.”_ _

__He bit down on the inside of his cheek – she was impertinent, vulgar in speech, and presumptuous, but it was refreshing to hear somebody actually come out and say what they wanted instead of beating around the bush. Not that he’d let her know that, of course. Like he said, if was even considering becoming her teacher, some ground rules needed to be set._ _

__“And why should I do that, Miss French?”_ _

__If she hadn’t had the grace to be polite about it, he would’ve thrown her out on the street for the patronizing look she gave him._ _

__“Look, ‘e finds out I’m workin’ ‘ere and you’ll have a full-blown riot on yer ‘ands. Hates you more ‘an Satan ‘imself, he does. And he knows yer rich, which’d just be another problem fer us to deal with, and I refuse to let me flat mates put up with ‘im on their own. See, me sister – stepsister – is one of ‘em, an’ the other is Chinese. She’s the one what’s sick. She got pretty beat up last night. I don’t s’pose I ‘ave to explain her line o’ work, then.” She sighed and looked down at her feet. “An’, back to Moe… ‘e’s still me dad, bastard or no.”_ _

__He hid it well, but that statement didn’t sit well with him at all. No child should be forced to put up with a parent like Moe French, much less this wisp of a girl who didn’t look like she could even put up with herself. He hardly considered himself a humanitarian, but even he had his limits. Unfortunately, this seemed to be one of them._ _

__“You agree to be my student, then?”_ _

__“You promise to clear all me dad’s debts? An’ that you’ll get me flat-mates jobs as real servin’ ladies so they won’t ‘ave to work the streets?”_ _

__Gold stared at her for almost a minute, his eyes taking in every inch of her. He didn’t know how adept she’d prove at learning the language, but, this way, neither of them would likely have to see Moe French again. He nodded his agreement._ _

__“Then aye. Forever it is.”_ _


	4. An Ordinary Man

Accustomed to Her Face (4/15)  
Title: Chapter 4: An Ordinary Man

Rating: PG

Author’s Note: Sorry for the length of this one - I tried to shorten it, but it simply didn’t work. The next three chapters at least are going to be just as ridiculously long, but, hopefully, it works out and won’t get on anybody’s nerves. Oh, and to answer an anon’s question, the chapter titles for this fic correspond with songs from the movie, and yes, the songs do fit with each scene. I can see how that would get confusing for those of you who haven’t actually seen “My Fair Lady”. I found this chapter especially ironic, in that the song from the scene this chapter is based on really is called “An Ordinary Man” - it’s like the movie was made to inspire an AU Rumbelle fic. Alright, enough jabbering, here’s chapter 4:

 

Izzy sat as still as she could, waiting for him to give her some hint that he’d heard her. The man didn’t move, though, still as a statue as she started to sweat. Had he only meant it as a joke? Was she not supposed to have answered yes?

But then she saw it, an almost imperceptible nod of his head, and she sighed with relief. “Oh, thank ya, professor. I was beginnin’ to think I was talkin’ to meself.”

His lip twisted wryly at her, no doubt a scathing retort on the tip of his tongue, but he refrained from saying anything. Instead, he rose out of his chair, clapping his hands together over his cane. “Well, best get started now.”

“Now!?” Izzy squeaked.

“Something wrong, Miss French? Do you have any pressing engagements?”

“Sort of, actually.” His eyes narrowed, so she proceeded as quickly as possible. “I promised Rose I’d be back by noon.”

Gold’s eyes flicked to the clock on the mantelpiece, and Izzy followed – it was already 10:30. He hummed low in his throat. “Don’t worry, Miss French, I’ll take care of it.”

Izzy grinned widely at him. For all that she’d heard about him, including her own interactions that proved him to be sarcastic and rude, he was surprisingly kind. “Thank ya, sir. But I don’t feel right with you callin’ me Miss French. I ain’t ‘ardly a lady yet, after all.”

He nodded, lips pursed. “Well Izzy won’t do, either. I assume it’s short for Isabelle?”

“I ain’t goin’ by Isabelle,” she huffed. “Makes me feel like a por-sa-leen doll.”

Gold groaned at her pronunciation of “porcelain”, and she made a note to try especially hard at words with more than two syllables in their future lessons. “Belle, then. Will that suffice?”

She mulled it over. It was a bit too French for her taste, which she thought ironic since French was her last name, but she supposed it would do. It certainly sounded more ladylike than Izzy. She nodded vigorously. 

“Good. Now, onto the matter of payment.”

“Oh, I don’t want nothin’, sir,” she blushed. “You’re already doin’ so much fer me, I’d hate to cheat you outta more.” Gold snorted disbelievingly at that, but she carefully ignored him. “If you absolutely insist, though, you can just let me use yer library.” 

He was momentarily taken aback. “You can read?”

“Course!” she nodded, picking up one of his thicker volumes. “Gotta keep up with the newspapers, see where the crowds’ll be. An’ I love books. Got a trunk full back ‘ome.” 

He took the book from her hands and snapped it shut. “Let’s not get carried away. We still have a few details to cover.”

“There’s more?!”

He nodded, brows knitted together as if he were suffering from a minor headache. “There’s also the matter of what you’ll do when the bet is over. You don’t want to go on selling flowers, do you?”

“Oh no, sir,” Izzy – Belle, she corrected; it’d be best to go ahead and start referring to herself as such now – hastily agreed. “Me dad was a florist back in Brisbane, I just picked up the trade here cause I already knew what I was doin’. Only thing I really know how to do at all, really.”

When he only stared at her in response, his eyes still faintly annoyed (a look she hoped wouldn’t be his go-to in their lessons), she racked her brain for a better answer. 

“If I was to get all smartened up, the only thing I reckon I’d really want to do is see the world,” she finally stated. “I only ever been ‘ere and Australia, and that really ain’t sayin’ much. Maybe travelin’ might give me a hint as to what I could do fer the rest o’ me life.”

He hummed and nodded again. She stifled her inappropriate laughter into her wet sleeve – who knew that a professor of phonetics would have so little to say?

“Is there, err, anythin’ else, professor?” she asked carefully, biting the inside of her cheek.

This time, he merely walked out of the room, one foot still inside to keep the swinging door open, and called for someone whose name she couldn’t hear. She barely had to wait two seconds before the sound of feet pounding down the staircase reached her ears. Gold strolled back in, this time accompanied by a rather young woman she didn’t know and the blonde lady who’d met her at the door.

“Belle, these will be your servants during your stay here. This is Mrs. Nolan,” he gestured to the blonde, “my housekeeper. She will serve all of your meals and clean up your rooms for you. Miss Lucas,” the younger woman curtsied and adjusted her apron, “shall serve as your lady’s maid, a position she can explain far better than I. If you have any questions, feel free to ask her or Mrs. Nolan, or even the colonel, if you wish.” He turned around and put the book back on one of his shelves. “Just don’t bother me with your trifles, for God’s sake.” He rubbed his hand over his face and pulled out a sifter of wine seemingly out of midair. She hoped her father hadn’t learned that trick. “We’ll start your lessons later this evening.”

“That late?” she asked, blinking in confusion. “What d’you expect me to busy meself with til then?”

He lifted her soggy shawl. “A new wardrobe, for starters. At the very least you’ll need a new dress and a decent pair of shoes.” He leaned in closer, and, though she still wasn’t as afraid of him as she thought she should be, her heart skipped a beat. She told herself to stay calm and not give herself away when he drew back, his nose wrinkled. “And a hot bath.”

Izzy – Belle, she silently corrected again – blinked at him. “A what?”

“A hot bath. You’ll obviously need your hair and face washed, and I don’t even want to consider how many layers of grime you’ve hidden under that dress.”

She flushed bright red at that. “I’m perfectly clean, thank ya. Washed me face an’ hands just three days ago.”

Behind her, Mrs. Nolan tutted her and scowled, but she ignored it.

“However clean you might think yourself, dearie, you are going to bathe,” he sneered at her, arms folded. “It wasn’t a question.”

She straightened herself to her full height, disappointed to find out that she was still a good few inches shorter than him. “I ain’t dousin’ meself full on in water, professor! I’ll catch me death of pneumonia!”

“You’ll do no such thing. Hot water isn’t going to give you pneumonia.”

“Like ‘ell it won’t!” she retorted, edging away from Mrs. Nolan and Miss Lucas. She could just see them dragging her into a vat of steaming water at the professor’s bequest. “I know all about what diseases people get when they get wet.”

Gold groaned at her, fingers rubbing avidly against his temples, and twisted in the opposite direction. Before she could ask what he was doing now, though, he’d dragged out a thick, dust-covered tome from a faraway shelf and was walking back with it. As he rifled through the pages, Belle noticed a worn engraving on the spine that identified the book as a medical text.

“Read,” he snapped, thrusting the book under her nose.

Belle impressed herself by not glaring at the man as she gently took the thing from his hands, buckling under its huge weight. The page he’d turned to was a section in the “p”s, and his finger, still on the paper, nudged a paragraph toward the bottom. For half a second, she was tempted to ask the professor what “pen-um-on-ia” was, but then, face turning red with embarrassment, realized that that must be how pneumonia was spelled. Trying not to let her shame show, she scanned quickly down the page, reading that bacteria and viruses, not the weather or being wet, leads to pneumonia. It’s purely coincidental, the page insisted, that most people contract the disease whilst cold or wet. There is no actual correlation. 

That was hardly reassuring, Belle thought. By that logic, it would be completely “coincidental” if she got raped in a brothel because she entered dressed as a cheap hooker. But it wasn’t up for debate, she knew that already, and she’d much rather suffer in silence than throw a fit like a small child. 

She snapped the cover of the book shut and tilted her head, the closest thing to agreeing that she was willing to offer up.

“Sir?” she asked nervously. She didn’t think there was a wrong way to close a book, but, then, she didn’t think pneumonia started with a “p” either.

His eyes narrowed on her suspiciously, his lips set in a thin line. “You already read it?”

Izzy – Belle, she reminded herself, she went by Belle now – crinkled her brows in confusion. “Yes,” she answered slowly. “Somethin’ wrong?”

Professor Gold took the book from her hands and, eyes never leaving hers, set it on the table behind him. “It only took you a few seconds, Belle.”

She shrugged her shoulders. “I s’pose. I wasn’t really timin’ meself. Why, do I read too slow?”

Gold said nothing, but he continued to gaze at her with thinly veiled amazement, hardly blinking as he analyzed every inch of her face. Eventually, though, he turned away, speaking around her in such a way that she felt like part of the plaster.

“Be sure to scrub her hair especially hard,” he muttered, focusing his gaze on Mrs. Nolan. “It looks like a literal rat’s nest at the moment.”

Before Belle could even register the insult, Miss Lucas and Mrs. Nolan had grabbed her by both arms and pulled her from the room, frog-marching her up the stairs.

“What’re you doin’?” she asked affronted.

Mrs. Nolan shook her head. “Taking you to bathe, miss. Were you not listening to the professor?”

“I don’t mean to pry,” Miss Lucas started, interrupting Belle just as she reopened her mouth, “but how do you get by only washing your face and hands? I’d go mad if I didn’t bathe at least once a week.”

“You mean you soak yerself up to yer neck in water, too?” she asked, looking at the girl like she was mad. “By yer own choice?”

Miss Lucas nodded. “Oh, yes. Trust me, it’s the best feeling in the world.”

Belle wasn’t so sure, but she nodded anyway to be polite. 

They bounded up almost three flights of stairs, and, for once, Belle had to be thankful for all of the running she had to do to get from site to site (Lord knew she wasn’t going to shell out her hard earned cash for a cab). Otherwise, she likely would have passed out. The building hadn’t looked this tall from outside, but, then, it was raining and she was too nervous to actually absorb what anything looked like.

“Here we are,” Mrs. Nolan interjected, pulling out a skeleton key from her apron pocket. “No one but the colonel has visited here for awhile, so please excuse the clutter.”

Belle was about to retort than it couldn’t be any more cluttered than her old flat, but she rather thought the room spoke for itself, least of all because there was nothing out of place at all along the floor or furniture.

The walls were printed red and gold, interrupted every now and then with dark mahogany furniture, including a vanity set. The carpet, curling out of sight beneath the canopied bed, felt elegantly soft under her feet, both it and the bedding a warm rose shade that almost matched her shawl. She wasn’t sure that she’d have picked the dusty pink color for herself, but it was still a far sight nicer than her old grey walls.

“This will be your apartment while you stay here,” Mrs. Nolan explained, her voice suggesting that this was probably a memorized speech. “This room is obviously your bedroom, that door over there,” she pointed to the left, “is your linen closet – don’t worry, Miss Lucas and I will make your bed, you won’t have to worry about anything in there – and that door,” now she turned to the right, dragging Belle with her, “is your lavatory, which you will dress in every morning and in which, right now, you will bathe.”

If she’d been shocked by the sight of the bedroom, she was absolutely dazed by the lavatory. She didn’t know that a room could look so clean – white walls, white tub, white linoleum on the floor, and all of it shined to a pristine sparkle.

“Now go on and strip.”

Belle spun around, sure that the dazzling whiteness of the room had distorted her senses. “Beggin’ yer pardon?”

“I said strip. Come on now, take off your clothes.”

Belle flushed pink. “But what if the professor comes up ‘ere! I ain’t havin’ him see me naked on top o’ drownin’ meself, thanks!”

“You won’t drown yourself, and he won’t see you naked,” Miss Lucas insisted, though she said the latter part with a mischievous smile. “If you’d rather, though, there’s a screen in the corner.”

Belle still didn’t feel comfortable with it, but Mrs. Nolan had started tapping her fingers, a tell-tale sign that she was getting annoyed even if her smiling face said otherwise. She nodded once and slipped lightning-quick behind the oak divider. She, Rose, and Mulan had never seen each other undressed, apart from those very rare occasions when one was sick and needed help getting up. It was just indecent. Belle had thought everyone, especially the upper class, felt the same, but she was quickly learning that her impressions about the rich were incorrect at best. Instead of stoic, regal men in full suits, for example, she had Colonel Hatter who was crazy as a loon and Professor Gold who had the rudest manner of anyone she’d ever met. Only the maids’ kind but nevertheless commanding nature fit her previous understanding. 

“I’m… I’m coming out,” she called over the corner of the paneling. 

Mrs. Nolan and Miss Lucas shared a look, then the former sighed, “You may stay back there until the tub is filled, if you wish.”

Belle smiled thankfully, but edged her head and neck further around the side as something of a compromise. Now that the whole room was visible to her again, she could see that steaming water was quickly filling the basin while the two women took various bottles and sprinkled their contents over it.

“What’s all that stuff yer pourin’ in?”

“Bath oils,” Mrs. Nolan answered.

“Shouldn’t I put those on meself, not waste ‘em in the water?”

Mrs. Nolan smiled indulgently at her as if she was an amusing child. “It’s fine, dear. We know what we’re doing.”

Belle scooted away, properly chastised. “Sorry, ma’am.”

“No need to apologize. But the bath’s ready, if you’d like to come out.”

She’d hardly like to come out, what with just her small hands and lank hair to hide her bits n’ bobs with. Still, she didn’t want to waste their time, and, more than that, it would be twenty times more shameful if they had to drag her in her state of nudeness. With a steadying breath, she stepped out from behind the screen. She’d expected the two women to blush or look away in shock, but, of course, they didn’t. In fact, Mrs. Nolan’s eyes were positively glued on her, analyzing every detail with an obvious desire to clean.

“This might take a while,” Mrs. Nolan told Miss Lucas, her voice merely factual instead of insulting. “It would save time if you went ahead and bought her some new dresses.”

Miss Lucas nodded, and, with an almost-wave in Belle’s direction, left the room. Belle, in the meantime, had managed to actually walk up to the tub’s rim, and was glaring into the water as if there was a monster lurking just underneath.

Mrs. Nolan huffed, obviously trying to maintain her patience. “It’s perfectly safe, dear. One foot at a time, it isn’t that difficult.”

Feeling utterly foolish, Belle stuck one toe into the scalding water, then another, then the whole leg, and kept going until she was fully drenched. Despite her fears, she found herself sinking in with a pleasant sigh. Miss Lucas had been right – the warm water was rather relaxing. She felt almost shamefully slothful at how tired the waves made her, spinning up her tendons and massaging every knot from her body. She’d have to tell Rose and Mulan about this as soon as she saw them again.

“Would you look at all this filth,” Mrs. Nolan lamented, drawing her from her thoughts. 

Belle looked down, confused as to what the woman was talking about, and turned beet red at the sight. The bathwater, which had moments ago been vanilla white with the powders and oils that had been added to it, was now the exact color and almost the consistency of mud. She hadn’t thought she was that dirty – like she told the professor, she cleaned her face and hands every two days. She felt shamefully disgusting before the all-too polite housekeeper.

“I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing, girl,” the blonde admonished, though her eyes were still quite kind. “It just means you’ll need another bath. Step on out, dear, I need to refill it.” 

“I didn’t know I was that much of a mess, ma’am,” Belle pleaded anyway, curling around herself once she’d climbed from the water. “I swear I keep meself clean best as I can.”

“I know, miss, it’s fine. Why, when I and the other maids really get to work cleaning out the grates in the kitchen, we come back black as chimneysweeps.”

Belle smiled at the woman’s subtle kindness, but it hardly made her feel any better about the state of nastiness she was in. Hearing Mrs. Nolan talk, though, was sufficiently distracting, so she launched onto another question.

“How long ‘ave you worked fer the professor, ma’am?”

Mrs. Nolan took a seat beside the tub, eyes squinched in thought. “15 years? That sounds about right. I came on when I was nineteen and I’m almost thirty-five now.”

“Really? I thought you was about my age.”

“Thank you, dear,” Mrs. Nolan blushed prettily, and Belle fought back the tiny worm of jealousy and dread that invaded, asking how Belle thought she’d succeed in this when even her new housekeeper had more class than she did.

“Don’t worry, Belle.”

She glanced up at the blonde woman with no small degree of shock – she didn’t think Mrs. Nolan knew any version of her real name.

“What?”

“Don’t worry about any of it. This is new to you. Everybody has to accomplish something new at some point in their lives. But I assure you, thick-skinned as he seems, the professor won’t let you fail. You’re in good hands here, miss.” She looked back to bath and turned the knobs aside again. “Water’s ready.”

Her second bath was even better than the first, mostly because there was no dirt and grime rising to the top of this one. It might very well have been the best time of her life, actually. In systematic process, Mrs. Nolan scrubbed out her curls until they shined like brown gold, sponged her arms with a thick lavender paste that made her comfortably drowsy, and massaged her feet until all the dead skin and evil bumps from standing up all day fell off. It was heaven. 

And it was over all too soon.

Mrs. Nolan shoved a fluffy bathrobe onto Belle’s arms, using the terrycloth on the outside to towel her dry as she went. A thin cloth almost as long as her whole body was wrapped around her hair, and Mrs. Nolan pinned it in place as she explained it would dry her hair faster. She also pulled out a pair of slippers so that Belle’s feet wouldn’t get the carpet wet. As luck would have it, Mrs. Nolan had excellent timing – as soon as they left the lavatory, Miss Lucas entered from the hall, weighed down with at least ten crinkling sheets of paper connected to clothes hangers.

“Here you are, miss,” Miss Lucas said happily, spreading the long bags across her bed. “Those top three are nightgowns, the fourth is a sort of evening gown should the colonel or professor decided to take you somewhere, and the rest are all day dresses.” She giggled nervously, a light pink tinge painting her cheeks. “I’ve got a bit of a shopping problem, especially when it comes to buying for others.”

Mrs. Nolan shook her head but patted Miss Lucas on the cheek. “Why do you think I sent you to do get her wardrobe, Ruby?”

The young woman smiled guiltily and asked again if Belle needed anything, to which she again replied no, before showing herself out.

“Well, go on and look,” Mrs. Nolan laughed. “I know you’re dying to.”

Belle grinned wide, happy that her lips no longer split when her mouth moved, and dove into the first bag. A forest green dress of velour with white linen cap-sleeves fell into her hands, plush and warm against her hands. The next held a yellow cotton that would keep her cool when the weather warmed without showing any skin. She dug through the rest with equal fervor, but, although all of the new clothes were gorgeous, she found her definite favorite at the top of the pile, a confection of silk almost the exact shade of blue as her eyes. If it wasn’t for the fact that she was supposed to be getting dressed for her first lesson, she would’ve immediately put it on and curled into a corner to read. This was by far the best time she’d ever had.

At least, it was until she sneezed. 

Dreading what that meant, Belle scurried into the beds sheets, hardly giving any notice to how soft and nice-smelling the material was.

“What are you doing?”

Belle’s only response was to burrow in deeper and huff, “I knew it! ‘e might know ‘is letters an’ languages, but he don’t know a thing about gettin’ sick.”

Something, probably Mrs. Nolan, depressed a spot next to her on the bed. “What about your lessons, though? What should I tell the professor?”

She sneezed again and wrapped herself tighter in the sheets. “Best go tell ‘im I won’t be comin’ down.”

“The professor can be awfully cross,” Mrs. Nolan warned, tugging lightly at the corner. “Are you absolutely sure?”

“Positive, Mrs. Nolan.”

The woman sighed, loud and obviously put out. “Alright. And call me Abigail, if you please. Mrs. Nolan makes me feel like an old woman. I only allow the professor to call me that because it makes him feel more comfortable.” She bent in closer to Belle’s ear. “Don’t tell him I said this, but he’s the most awkward thing I’ve ever seen when it comes to small talk.”

Belle laughed. “Ain’t a secret, I could tell that already.”

Her laughter was cut short by another sneeze. A warm hand patted her carefully on her shoulder.

“I wouldn’t worry too much, Belle. If anything, you’re only sick because of the cold rain from earlier, not a hot bath. But I sincerely doubt it’s anything more than a few sniffles.”

Belle tried to agree, but only ended up sneezing again. “Thanks, Mrs. Nolan.” Ahchoo! “Sorry, I meant Abigail. Might take me some gettin’ used to since that’s how you was introduced to me.”

“Actually, my name isn’t even Mrs. Nolan,” Abigail corrected with a smile. “Nolan was my maiden name, but, even before the wedding, everyone called me Mrs. Nolan. I suppose it’s because I tend to mother everyone. My husband’s name is Frederick James. He’s… well, he’s away. He’s an officer for the royal navy.”

Belle sank into the bedsheets. “I’m sorry, Miss… Abigail. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“How was it your fault?” the woman chastised lightly, fluffing up the spare pillows. “You didn’t have any way of knowing what my Freddy does for a living.”

“I s’pose. But I’m still sorry.”

“Yes, well… I’ll just run downstairs and tell the professor you won’t be coming. Just ring the bell next to the door if you need anything.”

Belle thanked her and snuggled deeper into the covers, breathing in the scent of lilacs and lavender. She couldn’t help but think that, even if their project went to Hell in a hand basket and she was beheaded before all of England, it would be worth it just to sleep a few nights in this bed.

—————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————

Gold shook his head as the women left, massaging the bridge of his nose and looking for the good scotch he usually kept hidden along the bottom shelf of his history books. When he bent down, the sound of someone pressing against the door the kitchen met his ears, and he shook his head – a military man ought to know better than to creak and hack while attempting to spy.

He took a quick sip of his scotch, shivering at the pleasant burn it made in his throat, and sat at his desk, pulling out four sheets of paper and a pen. He let the cougher sweat for a good ten minutes longer, enough time for him to draft his first letter, before muttering,

“You may stop lurking, Hatter, they left a half-hour ago.”

The colonel all but fell into the room through the swinging door. Had Gold been simply irritated with the man, he might’ve made a snide comment or simply sneered at him. Instead, he upturned the bottle and took another long sip.

“I don’t know how you’re still alive,” he muttered. “Noisy as you are, I’m surprised the Indians aren’t marching through Bombay with your head on a pike.”

“They don’t have pikes, they have chakrams,” Hatter corrected, collapsing artfully onto the empty sofa. “So, may I take our girl’s absence to mean that you took her on as a student?”

Gold took another large sip and nodded yes, gluing his eyes to the next letter to keep from seeing his top-hatted friend. 

“You know, I’m beginning to think that admitting her was some master plan of yours. After all, she didn’t come here to be taught, and I clearly wasn’t going to just offer it her. Yet here I am, half an hour later, with a dirty young woman upstairs and not enough to drink down here.”

He drained the rest of the bottle and chucked it roughly into the trash bin at his feet. Much as he complained, though, he only poured himself a small glass of wine instead of dragging over the whole bottle. He was no lightweight, but he wasn’t about to drain his entire liquor collection before his lessons had even begun – Lord knew he’d likely need more later.

“You’ll thank me for this, Gold, I assure you,” Hatter grinned, almost as if he could see the direction the professor’s thoughts were going in. “I can just see her becoming the best student you’ve ever taught.”

“My hopes aren’t so high, colonel.” He took another small sip and returned to his writing. “But if she learns as fast as she reads, she will be ready for the ball in a week.” 

The colonel smirked. “What are you doing with all of those papers, by the way?”

Gold turned to glare at him before answering, “Letters. This one is for Moe French to tell him that his debts have been anonymously paid off; the one under it is a request that my physician see to an oriental woman named Mulan at Belle’s old address in Lisson Grove as soon as he finishes reading the note, in return for a heavy addition to my bill; the one I just finished is for Belle’s step-sister letting her know that Belle’s made arrangements for her and Mulan to be ladies’ maids for Mdm. Ficient in Templecombe in Somerset; and this last one is for Mdm. Ficient explaining why there are two women standing on her doorstep.”

The colonel’s eyes hadn’t left him once while he’d rattled off his explanations, and, though he’d felt it, it irked him even more to see the man’s eyebrows disappearing under his top hat to look at Gold like was insane. “Well?” he snapped. “It’s clear you’re curious, go ahead with your incessant questions.”

It was clear that the man hadn’t expected to be addressed, and Gold counted it a minor victory when the younger man almost fell off the couch in his haste to come up with something. “Err, who’s Belle?”

Gold smirked. “Do you like it?”  
“Like what?”

“Miss French and I decided that she would go by Belle for the remainder of our project.”

Hatter shrugged, still in utter bewilderment. “It suits her well, I suppose. But how did you get all these letters written so fast?” His stranger humor was back in an instant, along with the quirk of his mouth. “Ah, now I see – you’re pushing the blame onto me for this endeavor to draw away suspicion from yourself. How else could you have this all organized so quickly?”

He didn’t even consider deigning that one with a response. Hatter’s smirk followed him across the room, but the man himself said nothing when Gold called for his driver, Mr. Dove. He gave the man specific instructions for delivery and returned glumly to the library. 

“I should’ve known. She’s obviously a quick mind, and she’s bold enough to stand up to you. No wonder you wanted her on so badly.”

Gold glared at him as he dropped into his winged armchair. “I didn’t plan this, colonel. I’m only adept at working things to my advantage when I have to. And I hardly see a quick mind in the girl. She’s probably just as useless as her father.”

“Now you know that isn’t true,” Hatter chastised, wiggling his eyebrows at him.

“Believe what you want. But it’s clear to me that she came here to cheat me out of my money and picked up a few perks along the way.”

The colonel’s smile fell away in an instant. “That’s a bit too far, Gold. She was entirely sincere in her request, and she obviously wasn’t expecting anything based on how quickly she accepted your refusal. Did she even mention the slightest thing about money?”

“No,” he answered reluctantly, chewing on the side of his cheek. “She didn’t even accept my offer to give her her own spending money.”

“Well, there you go.”

“Hatter, her entire reason for coming here was to help herself get away from her father. Mentioning her roommates was a nice little tack-on, but, whatever she might’ve said, they weren’t her priority.” He reached for his glass of wine and drained the top half. “Women are never sincere.”

Hatter glared at him straight on. “If you’re talking about Millie–”

“I’m not talking about anyone but Belle,” he growled, his tone plainly stating for him to drop it. 

“Fine,” the colonel acquiesced, raising his hands in defeat. “But, in that case, I’m sure that you’ll find, given some time, that Belle is a sweet, honest woman and that you’ve been worrying over nothing.”

Gold snorted in derisive disbelief, and inwardly thanked his housekeeper for choosing that moment to appear.

“How’s our newest tenant?” he drawled coldly.

“Well, she’s properly bathed and dressed, sir,” Mrs. Nolan answered. Gold didn’t miss the shifty look on her face, but the colonel interrupted before he could start to wheedle it out. 

“She’s staying here?”

Mrs. Nolan spared him a quick nod before returning to Gold. “And she believes she’s sick as a dog. I told her she’d feel perfectly fine after a short nap, but she didn’t believe me. The poor thing is sure that she’s going to have pneumonia by nightfall.” She took a step back before continuing, “She sent me down here to tell you she won’t be coming down tonight for any lessons.”

The reason for Mrs. Nolan to back away was instantly clear. Before Gold was even aware of moving, he’d grabbed his cane and was marching for the stairs.

“And where do you think you’re going?”

“To beat that ruddy girl senseless, that’s where. She agreed to my teaching, and, by God, she’s going to follow through.”

“You will do no such thing!” Mrs. Nolan chastised, beating him with her dishrag. 

“It’s my bloody house, woman, I’ll do what I want,” he growled.

“Your house? When was the last time you made up your own bed, professor, hmm? And who makes sure that your library,” she snatched away his glass before he could guess her next move, “is full to the brim with your vices? I’m the housekeeper, Mr. Gold – own it all you like, I’m the one that runs it.”

Gold attempted to glare her down, an action that was rather offset by his blind grasping for the scotch. Finally, he settled back against the wall and gestured at her irately with his hands.

“What do you suggest, then, oh wise keeper of my house?”

Mrs. Nolan smirked for barely a second, then invaded his space again to poke him accusingly in the chest.

“She’s just a girl, professor. Go speak to her and try to make her feel welcome. Miss Lucas’s put her in the top bedroom.”

Gold grumbled, but, to Hatter’s obvious surprise, complied. He swiveled in his chair to face the housekeeper, and Gold did his best to ignore their mutterings on his way out. “Mrs. Nolan, how do you get him to do whatever you ask?”

“Misplaced sense of guilt, colonel,” she smiled.

“I really must try that out.”

“Best of luck to you, then, sir. It’s taken me the best part of a decade.”

Professor Gold shook his head, cursing all the way up the stairs to Belle’s top room. A lesser man, one with much less pride at stake, might’ve demanded a one-story house what with his bum knee, but he refused. Now, though, he was starting to regret that abominable pride because the pain in his leg made him twice as angry at the girl. He’d be surprised if she didn’t run away when he was through with her.

He paused in front of her door to catch his breath and cool himself down as much as possible, which wasn’t saying a lot. If anything, waiting to yell at the girl was just making him irritated on top of actually angry, and he decided to give it up as a lost cause.

Knock, knock.

He waited, and, finally, was met with a solemn issue to come in. Of course, he thought with a growl. She was probably a drunk or a druggie like her father, accepted his offer just so she could sleep off her addiction in a real room for once. He barged in, ready to yell, but was stopped short at the sight of her curled up in a nightgown on her bed. 

All of his anger blew away with a gust of his breath, leaving him with a feeling of pure shock. She certainly hadn’t been disgusting when she was just Izzy or Miss French, but he had no idea she would look this beautiful when cleaned up. Her eyes, especially – they positively sparkled.

“Hello, professor,” she smiled. “What d’you need?”

He tried to recall his earlier anger but found it practically impossible. “Mrs. Nolan said you’d canceled our first lesson. Are you quite alright?”

“I’m sure I will be,” she nodded. “An’ I’m really sorry, sir. The hot bath felt wonderful, sir. I’m just not sure it agreed with me is all.”

“Ah.”

He shifted from foot to foot, thinking about making a clean exit, but Belle must’ve sniffed out his nervousness. “Was there anythin’ else, professor?”

Gold wasn’t sure why, but he was suddenly desperate to make their conversation last a few moments longer.

“Yes, actually. I sent out letters to you father and your roommates. All of his debts have been ‘anonymously’ paid off, and your roommates are now employed by a business acquaintance of mine.”

“Thank ya, sir. Could… could I ask ya something?”

His eyes narrowed, but he inclined his head to her.

“It’s just… why’re you bein’ so nice to me?”

He very nearly laughed. “I’m never nice, dearie. You’ll find that out if you miss another lesson, I assure you. The rats in the kitchen will eat well for days.”

Belle’s eyes widened comically, and he found himself suddenly rushing forward, one hand slapped to his forehead. “A quip, Belle. I wasn’t serious.”

She stared at him in shock for what felt like a solid minute before her face broke into a wide smile, causing him no small amount of surprise.

“You cheeky thing!” she giggled. “An’ here I thought you ‘ad the humor of a potato.” She laughed for another moment, then gradually calmed, her eyes locked on his. “I was bein’ serious, though, sir. Why’re you bein’ so kind?”

A thousand more snide comments came to mind, along with a few words that would instantly shoot her down or leave her so angry she’d forget about the question. For whatever reason, though, he finally decided on saying, “I wasn’t always as well off as I am now.”

He didn’t elaborate, and he was surprised to find that Belle didn’t expect him to. “So, before all this, you really was just an ordinary man like the rest of us.”

“Yes, well…” He coughed to break up the tension and swiftly reapplied his dark demeanor. “I hope your nap is successful. We’ll be starting promptly at 5 AM tomorrow, and I won’t tolerate another missed lesson.”

Just as he had earlier in the library, he could feel the eyes drilling into his head. Having this pair follow him didn’t give him the same sense of annoyance as Hatter’s had, though. In fact, he didn’t know how he felt as all. 

He made a short stop in the kitchen to down another fifth of scotch before returning to the library. This was going to be a long three months…


	5. Just You Wait

Accustomed to Her Face (5/15)  
Title: Chapter 5: Just You Wait

Rating: PG (for now)

Author’s Note: Sorry about the long wait. I’m editing chapter 6 as we speak (it’s a beast, too), but, after that, chapter 7 should be up rather quickly. Hope you enjoy :) 

 

“Miss Belle? Miss Belle, it’s time to wake up.”

Izzy rolled over, curling the pillow over her head to block out the woman’s voice. This was the softest bed she’d ever slept in, and she’d be damned if someone tried to drag her out now. 

“Miss Belle? Your porridge and eggs will get cold if you don’t wake up.”

Izzy continued to ignore the voice, and even thought that whoever it was had left until she shook her. “Come on, miss, your lessons start in twenty-five minutes, and you don’t want to be late.”

Izzy’s eyes snapped open – the professor. Professor Gold. She was staying with him, Rose and Mulan were safe, and her father wouldn’t bother her ever again. And my name’s Belle, now, she reminded herself. Apparently it would take her more time to get used to than she expected.

“I’m up,” Belle groaned, removing the pillow from her head. A quick glance at the clock ticking on the opposite wall confirmed her suspicions – it was only 4:35.

“About time, miss,” the maid laughed, setting Belle’s food tray on her bedside table. “The professor’s a beast when he’s angry.”

Belle smiled. “Well, thank ya, Miss Lucas.” She paused for a second, trying to remember the woman’s first name. “Ruby? Mrs. Nolan wanted me to call her Abigail, what should I call you?”

“Either’s fine with me, miss,” she shrugged. “I don’t really have a preference.”

“Well, knowin’ how I forget things, that’s probably for the best. Hope ya don’t mind if I switch back an’ forth too often.”

Ruby smiled at her. “Oh, I’m going to like having you here. Well, off I go. I laid a dress out for you on your vanity chair. The professor and Col. Hatter are waiting for you in the library.”

Belle waited until the door had snapped shut behind her to dig into the tray, wolfing her food down like an animal. She briefly tasted how very different, better, the food was, eggs soft and supple and porridge warm and sweet, but she was far too hungry to linger on it.

Full and wide awake, Belle slipped out of bed and removed the sleeves of her nightdress. Remembering the bath from yesterday, though, she crept over to the door and made sure it was locked before removing the rest of it.

Not knowing what to do with her clothes, she folded it into a neat bundle and laid it on the bed, which she also straightened out the best she could. She didn’t know what Ruby’s job entailed, but she wasn’t going to get yelled at by the professor if she was supposed to make her own bed. 

Five minutes later, she swept down the stairs in her (and it felt like a dream she hadn’t yet woken from to say that it was hers) pink taffeta gown. She didn’t care how obnoxious she looked, almost rubbing herself against the new dress – it was the softest fabric she’d ever felt, and she couldn’t help but indulge a little. The clock downstairs listed the time as 4:59, though, so she all but jumped down the last landing, straightening her gown as much as possible. 

She sighed when she entered the library, still amazed at the sheer number of books along the walls. There were three floors of them, separated by small spiral staircases and ladders on the first floor. Heaven had to look something like this, she thought.

Professor Gold stood before the tallest of his bookshelves, fiddling with some odd machine that Belle recognized but couldn’t quite name. She thought it had something to do with playing music. Folding her hands behind her back, trying her best to look delicate and demure, she traipsed up to him to let him know she was ready. Or at least she would have if he had bothered to look at her. She fidgeted by his side for a long, awkward minute before the colonel finally saved her.

“Right on time,” he expounded, guiding her to a seat. She spared another glance at the professor before turning her eyes back to the colonel, unable to hide her amusement. He was wearing an even more ridiculous hat today, this one bedecked with what looked to be peacock feathers and a miniscule blue bow at the side. He caught her looking and preened like a peacock himself, draping himself over the opposite sofa as if he was expecting someone to paint him. Belle sniggered. 

“Good morning, Miss Belle,” Abigail smiled, seeming to appear out of nowhere with a duster in one hand and a rag in the other. 

“Was breakfast to your liking? I asked the cook to make you something special – figured you could use some meat on your bones.”

“Thank ya.” She couldn’t help but sound anxious when the professor wouldn’t look at her. “The eggs were delicious.”

Abigail went back to her dusting, leaving Belle to stand and wait to be addressed. Gold still hadn’t turned around.

The colonel, obviously just as confused as she was, interjected rather pointedly, “So, Miss Belle, how are you enjoying your stay here?”

“It’s been wonderful, thank ya. I especially liked the bath. Never knew hot water would feel so good on me skin.”

BANG!

Belle jumped at least a foot in the air. There was hardly any cause for concern, though; it seemed the professor had slammed the lid of the machine he was fiddling with on his finger.

“Damn, damn, damn!” he shouted, rapidly swinging his hand to the side. 

Abigail squawked at him, hands on her hips. “I won’t tolerate such language in front of the young girl! Heavens, I barely tolerate it when it’s just me.”

“Damn you, damn the girl, and damn this blasted machine,” he muttered, wrapping his hand in his handkerchief. “Now, might you excuse us, Mrs. Nolan? We have a lesson to get to.”

Abigail glared at him but acquiesced, sparing Belle a sympathetic smile on her way out. 

“If we’re all done dawdling, might we get on with our lesson?” Professor Gold called out, situating a podium just in front of the music machine. “Belle, step up here.”

She quickly realized that she didn’t like being the center of the professor’s attention – his stare was too direct, as if analyzing every fault she possessed. Even as her legs shook, though, she did as he commanded and stood next to him by the shelves.

“Dearie, this part is going to be quite simple,” he explained slowly, drawing two of the armchairs closer for himself and the colonel. “I’m going to ask you a series of questions, and you’re going to answer directly into that mouthpiece you see before.” She looked down at the odd little wire sticking out of the wood. “Everything you say will be recorded, so try to speak clearly. So, question number one: What’s your name?”

She stood surprisingly still, only leaning over to speak into the wire. “You know me name, professor.”

Gold looked ready to blow his top off, but he shut his mouth and counted to three instead. “Yes, dearie, I do know your name. This is merely an exercise to see how you pronounce certain words, alright?”

Belle was still confused, but she nodded regardless.

“Good. Now, what’s your name?”

“Isabelle French, sir. I used to go by Izzy, but I s’pose it’s Belle now.”

“How old are you?”

Belle snorted. “I’m no lady yet, but I know it ain’t proper to ask one what ‘er age is.”

The colonel chuckled at her, interrupting Professor Gold before he could start in on her. “Fair enough. Imagine if he’d asked for your weight?”

She laughed. “Right glad it wasn’t that, colonel. That would’ve been dreadful.”

He held up his hat to her. “Please call me Jefferson. All of this ‘colonel’ and ‘Hatter’ nonsense is beginning to make me forget my own name. Besides, I don’t think I’m much older than you, so it wouldn’t be considered improper to use my Christian name.”

She smiled at that and finally acquiesced. “I’ll be twenty-one come May. Is it proper for me to ask fer your age?”

“I believe so. And, even if it’s not, I’m thirty-two.”

“Are we quite finished with these pleasantries?” the professor growled.

Jefferson coughed and looked abruptly away, though Belle saw him wink at her under the fringe of his hair. She smirked.

“Where did you grow up?” Gold asked tersely.

“Brisbane, Australia.”

Gold gestured for her to go on.

“Near the river? I don’t recall an exact street name, I just know we was by water.”

“And where do you live now?”

“Well, I’m assumin’ ya don’t mean ‘ere, so Lisson Grove. I rent out a flat in the southeast end with me step-sister an’ me best friend.”

“Three young women living alone in that part of town?” Jefferson interrupted. “How did you manage to work that out?”

Belle shrugged. “I work as a flar girl in Covent Garden and gents’ clubs an’ Mulan – that’s me friend, not me sister – works two jobs on top o’ that. ‘t ain’t much, but it’s enough to keep us on our feet.”

Gold stared at her unblinking, reminding her unpleasantly of a neighbor’s cat that stared down the mice before it pounced. Finally, though, he dropped his head, returning once more to his feet as he hummed low in his throat.

“Hatter –”

“Jefferson,” the colonel smirked, crossing his hands behind his hat. “If Belle gets to call me be my first name, it’s more than appropriate for you to do the same.”

Belle could see the professor grit his teeth. “Jefferson, then. Write this down.”

Jefferson plucked one of the quills off his hat and dipped it in the inkwell. Both Belle and Professor Gold stared at that, but the man only asked the professor to go on.

“Alright. Well, she needs extensive help in saying her vowels correctly, I’d say a solid week of lessons at the least.”

“Fine by me so long as you don’t make us count them again,” Jefferson mumbled, jotting it down in shorthand. 

The professor ignored him. “Then contractions – which ones are appropriate, which ones are not, and which ones aren’t even words at all. The same holds true for her colloquialisms –”

“Me what?” Belle asked, nose wrinkled.

“Slang, dearie,” Gold groaned, not even bothering to look at her. “Like using me instead of my. Etiquette is a given, but that shouldn’t be too problematic. Her posture, which is only terrible when she walks. Terms of address regarding the people she’ll meet at the Embassy… anything else you can think of?”

“That would seem to cover it,” he agreed, stuffing the ink-coated quill back into his hat.

“Good. That means we can get started.”

Gold returned to the side table, grabbing a sheaf of thick papers to bring back to the chair. He rifled through them for a moment before tearing one out and setting it on the podium before her.

“I want you to read these sentences for me.”

Belle scanned the lines, feeling her eyebrows raise with each word. “Beggin’ yer pardon, sir, but this is all nonsense words.”

Professor Gold sighed and withdrew a pair of spectacles from his smoking jacket. Belle was surprised by how different they made him look, owlishly intelligent but somehow softer. He bent over her shoulder before she could look any further, though.

“They aren’t nonsense,” he finally said, and she could tell that he was at his last tether of patience. “Saying them aloud will help you practice saying your vowels. See, the first part is short ‘i’s and ‘o’s. ‘Amidst the mists and coldest frosts.’ Continue.”

Belle felt absolutely ridiculous, and she knew her cheeks had to be bright red, but she did as he bade. “‘With stotests wrists an’ lodest boasts’ –”

“Stout and loud, dearie,” he growled close to her ear. A shiver went down her spine, and she twisted an inch away from him. “Like saying ‘ow’ when you’re hurt. And there’s a ‘d’ at the end of and. Try again.”

“‘With st-stoutest wrists an’… and lodest… loudest, boasts’… He throwsts’ –”

“Thrusts. Different sound, dearie. Try again.”

She went through the nutty poem at least fifteen times, the professor never quite satisfied with her delivery, before he saw fit to make her stop.

“Dearie, are you even trying?”

“Oh no, I’m just standin’ ‘ere sayin’ kids’ rhymes fer me good health,” Belle snorted.

He stuck his cane in her face. “Ladies don’t snort.”

Belle was tempted to ask the obvious question – “And how would you know so much about what ladies do?” – but bit her tongue.

“Fine, we’ll move on from that.” He looked at her threateningly. “For now. Besides, the way you say your contractions is almost worse than the pronunciation of your vowels.”

“What d’you mean, professor?”

“That, actually,” he scoffed, gesturing at her with a roll of his wrist. “D’you, you said. From now on, I only want you to say do you – two separate words, both with long vowels. Repeat after me: do you.”

“Doo yooou,” she replied, elongating the sound to make sure it came out right. The professor didn’t seem to mind too much, though, so she counted it as a victory.

“Good. We can work more on that later.”

“Before ya go on, professor, can I ask somethin’?”

It was clear that he wanted to say no, but, as he obviously didn’t have a good enough reason to deny her, he jerkily nodded yes.

“Thank ya. Now, me question - why do I have to say it like that?”

Gold groaned at her, obviously finding the question beyond stupid. “Because it’s grammatically correct. Now –”

“Hold on,” she interrupted. “Who decided that that was ‘correct’? What if my way’s right an’ whatever sot thought this up was off ‘is rocker?”

Professor Gold glared daggers into her. “I’ve no idea who created these rules, Belle. They simply are. They’ve existed for years, and they have to be followed.”

“What you mean is there ain’t a reason. Well, that’s a right load of rubbish, isn’t it?”

Jefferson howled with laughter. The professor, on the other hand, looked positively murderous.

Belle gulped – it was going to be a long three-and-a-half months…

———————————————————————————————————————-

Belle didn’t hate the letter “a”. Honestly, she’d never cared one way or the other about any of the letters of the alphabet. She certainly didn’t hate any of them.

But that was all before Professor Gold.

Four weeks into their time together, she’d not only learned to dislike the letter “a”, but to loathe it with a burning passion. The same also held true for the rest of the alphabet, as well as sitting (which she apparently wasn’t doing right) and silverware (the use of which she was constantly mocked for – how was she supposed to know different forks were supposed to used for each part of the meal?). Throughout all of this, though, remained that blasted “a”. 

And, because that blasted “a” still didn’t come out right, she spent an hour a day with her mouth open and feeling like she’d gone to a toothpuller with all of the “aaaaaaah”ing she had to do. It bored her to tears, but the professor seemed to get a kick out of it if his creative addition to the lesson were anything to go by. When teaching her etiquette for dinner parties, for instance, she wasn’t allowed to eat anything or even sit down until she pronounced the vowel to Gold’s satisfaction. 

Not that she ever did – most days, he only let her sit down when Abigail henpecked him for being a cruel old man or Jefferson suggested they continue practicing before dessert. The fact that neither of her two protectors ever said she was getting better, though, was enough to let her know the truth – they were a third of the way through with the bet, and she hadn’t improved a bit. She was terrified and ashamed.

And her teacher was furious. With every passing day that her accent worsened or merely stayed the same, Professor Gold treated became increasingly harsh. He wanted her to complain. She could tell, with every twitch of his mouth, every glint of his eyes, that he wanted her to explode so he could really tear into her. No matter how hard it was, then, what degrading things he made her do or how late he made her stay up studying, she never once gave in. Not even when his “creative” methods became more reminiscent of bizarre punishments than actual lessons.

Today, for example, found her reciting her “a”s while marching about with a book on her head and a fire poker in her hands.

“Shorter, dearie,” he chastised, leaning forward yet again to correct her posture. “It shouldn’t sound like you’re yawning. And the purpose of this exercise to hold the poker straight and keep the book from falling, not wobble about like a circus performer.”

“In my defense,” she huffed, the closest thing to a complaint she allowed herself, “I’ve only ever walked with a basket full o’ orchids afore now. Before now,” she headed him off, before he could prod her with his cane again. She’d found that an odd desire to pluck it from his hands and light fire to it had grown in her over the past week. “I ain’t… haven’t, ever walked around with a poker an’ a book like this. I feel like a bloomin’ idiot.”

Gold tried to hide his amusement at the ridiculous picture she knew she made by returning ever so dutifully to his Victrolla. 

“Why were you selling orchids, for that matter?” he asked, eying her like a dim schoolchild. “I always thought roses and lilies were the best sellers.”

“Oh no.” She barely kept herself from snorting, and then only because she was trying to keep the book even. “Orchids and violets is the best. Are the best, sorry.”

He was still patronizing her, she could see it in his “gracious” smile. “Oh, do explain.”

“Well, all the women want to wear purple – color of royalty and what not. But most of ‘em, even real high class, can’t afford a nice purple gown. Probably can’t even afford a purple boa. A flower, though, is more than within their price range. And, if I happen to say to husbands at the gents’ club, ‘By the by, sir, I’m sure the missus if feeling right lonely while you’re playin’ poker. How bout you get her somethin’ from me basket?’, I’m sure to sell at least twelve bouquets a night. Maybe even more if I shoot a little look at the floozy they’ve got touted on their arm.”

The professor wasn’t so smug anymore. In fact, she almost thought he looked impressed. But that had to be just her imagination.

“I’m quite sorry for waking you up earlier than usual this morning,” he finally muttered, obviously trying for snide but coming off genuinely apologetic. For that alone, she rewarded him with her own genuine sincerity.

“It’s fine, sir, I’ve woken up earlier than 4:00 before. And, anyway, I still haven’t thanked you for how soft my bed is.” She subtly adjusted the book, hoping he wouldn’t notice that it was about to fall. “You probably wouldn’t’ve… wouldn’t have, had such a problem shaking me up if it weren’t so comfy.”

Gold waved her off. “You’ve slept in one bed, you’ve slept in all of them. I’m sure it’s no different than the one you used in your flat.”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“Yes, well, women are always picky about where they sleep,” he drawled. She almost missed his tacked-on, “Just not who they sleep with.” She bit her tongue to keep from commenting, though – bastard or not, everyone was entitled to their opinion and their secrets, even Professor Gold.

“What I meant to say,” she said instead, “was that I ain’t… haven’t, slept in a bed since we moved from Australia.”

For some reason unbeknownst to her, that caught his attention. “You’re not about to tell me that you lived on the streets when I know you had a flat.” 

It wasn’t much of an insult, so Belle knew that he had to be genuinely curious. Much as he liked to think himself a great mystery to be solved, Belle had learned most of the tricks he utilized to make himself seem superhuman, especially those that hid his emotions from prying eyes and ears.

“Not quite,” she answered calmly, ignoring the glare he gave her for not lashing out. “See, I slept on the floor most o’ the time when it was just me and dad. He was usually laid up in the bed drunk, an’ I didn’t want to sleep with him when he smelt like cheap liquor. Me… my best friend, Mulan, she lived with us back then, too, and I made her take the chaise. Sometimes she gets pains in her back if she lays on something hard fer too long. Although, funny thing there is that dad didn’t even know she was a girl – thought he’d hired a little Chinese boy to wait on ‘im hand an’ foot. Never found out, neither.”

Gold chuckled, but stopped himself when he realized what he was doing. “Keep walking, Belle.”

“Yes, sir. Anyway, after me dad… my dad shacked up with Rose’s mum – I call Rose my stepsister cause it’s easier, but dad never married Mrs. Briar proper – and we both avoided the bedrooms like the plague fer fear o’ catchin’ them with their pants down. So to speak. An’ it weren’t always with each other, neither.”

Belle shivered at the memory, almost tripping over a corner of the rug. She let Gold think she hadn’t noticed how he’d jerked forward to catch her before she righted herself, surprisingly with both the book and poker in place. 

“We usually slept on the floor there, too, but that weren’t so bad because we had the three of us together. Not to say it was all sunshine an’ roses, though. Dad kicked me out when I was fourteen, so I dragged Rose and Mulan with me. Remember Jefferson was surprised that we was… that we were three girls livin’ by ourselves in Lisson Grove?”

Gold nodded.

“Well, when we first moved in, the neighbors thought we was two women and a man. Mulan, she’s still got a knack for dressin’ like the opposite sex. Good fer her, too, cause we woulda died if she hadn’t landed that job on the docks.” Her language was getting worse by the second, but Gold didn’t seem to notice – anyone else would’ve said his attention was on the silly trophy he was still admiring, but Belle knew better. She turned away, smirking when she saw his gaze follow her out of the corner of her eye. “Anyway, because me ‘husband’ was oriental, they stayed right away from us, too, so we never had problems.”

“You still haven’t explained about the bed.”

“Oh, right. Well, there was just a couch an’ a bed in our flat. The bed fit two, an’ since Rose ‘as got a sleepin’ problem, an’, like I said, Mulan gets back pains, they took it. ‘sides, I’m the shortest – our couch weren’t very long, they would’ve both cramped up if they tried sleepin’ on it.” The clock on the wall said it was five o’clock, so Belle felt it safe to finally let the book drop. She shook it happily in her hand before opening to the first page, finishing her story off with, “Best part, though, was I could read when I wanted without worrying bout who I was keepin’ up with me light.”

For barely a moment, a mere sliver of a second, a look of deep sadness, compassion, for her filled his eyes. But he looked away before she could call him on it. “Well, I wasn’t aware. Next I suppose you’ll blame for not understanding your situation,” he hummed, absentmindedly dusting one of the knickknacks on his shelf. 

She smiled at him - those short moments before he turned himself off, where he almost treated her like a person instead of project, were what she lived for. “It’s okay that ya don’t understand, professor. You’ve always had money. I’m not blamin’ you for comin’ out with a luckier lot in life.”

He stared at her like he always did when she confused him – long and scanning, never blinking as he analyzed every degree of her face. She’d learned to count that stare as a victory – uncomfortable as it made her feel, it meant she’d stumped the great professor. 

“You can drop the poker now,” he finally told her. “We’ll stop for the evening. Go get some rest in that soft bed of yours.”

She stared at him in turn as he marched from the room, leaning heavily on his cane. She wasn’t sure what that dismissal meant, distaste or some odd form of compassion, but she took it nonetheless. She cradled the book under her arm and went up the side stairs – for some reason, the idea of running into him now made her body shake. 

———————————————————————————————————————-

Belle was hardly worthy of his time, bet or no. Professor Gold reminded himself of that fact every morning when he woke and every night when he went back to sleep. She was a pitiful excuse for a student, and even worse of one for a lady. Her vowels were wrong, every other one of her sentences dripped with absurd slang, and never once did she seem apologetic for talking back to him. She was just like every other woman on the planet – out for herself and no one else.

And he couldn’t stop looking at her.

Entering or leaving a room, standing or sitting, yawning or pronouncing everything horribly wrong, he couldn’t keep his eyes off her.

He’d taken to making their lessons last even longer, waking her up before any decent human being ever should and sending her to bed well after 9:00. He leaned over her shoulder while she recited her sentences. He sat much too close to her at mealtimes under the pretence of adjusting which spoon she ought to use. The worst of it, though, was when he insisted on aligning her spine himself, using his own hands on her body to adjust the way she walked. He doubted she realized how often he complained about posture, even though he was meant to be a linguist, not a chiropractor. After all, he was always correcting something about her, why should she think of this as anything different? When that feeble comfort failed to work, he’d tell himself that he really was just amending her posture, even as he let his hand settle for a moment too long on the small of her back.

And then he noticed that she was short enough that he could see how her dresses accentuated her breasts. 

He would fire Miss Lucas the first chance he got for giving Belle such form fitting clothes.

The green dress she wore today only went to the bottom of her calves. He’d always thought that the ankle-length dresses rule of the past had been ridiculous, but he was beginning to understand the necessity of keeping them covered. Belle’s ankles shouldn’t make his palms sweaty. 

“We’re going to try something new today,” he told her, rigging up the hose to his lamp and the flickering candle inside of it. “You drop ‘h’s right and left, dearie, so I thought this might be good practice. Every time you say the letter ‘h’ properly, this candle will flicker. If you do not, it will remain still. Observe: in Hartford,” the candle flickered on the h, “Hereford,” it flickered again, “and Hampshire, hurricanes hardly ever happen. Now your turn.”

Belle took the paper from his hand and put her lips right up to the hose. He had to prod his foot with his cane to keep from doing something obscenely stupid.

“In ‘artford, ‘ereford, an’ ‘ampshire, hurricanes ‘ardly hever happen.”

“Oh dear Lord,” he moaned, putting his hands to his eyes. At least now he couldn’t see as much of her. “There isn’t a single bloody ‘h’ in the word ever!”

He could tell that she wanted to yell, too, but she pursed her lips together to keep from it. He often wished she’d just let him have it – at least then he’d have a reason to be this unnaturally frustrated.

“Let her have a break, Gold,” the colonel reprimanded, lounging half on and half off the couch. 

“I would love a cuppa tay,” Belle muttered, eyes just one inch away from pleading. He wouldn’t give in, though – giving in would cross some unnamed barrier he’d set up between them.

“Cup of tea, dearie,” he corrected. “You would love a cup of tea.”

“A cup of tea, then,” she mimicked. That was all she had learned over the past month – how to mimic his sounds for a few moments so she could have her way.

“Yes. And you can have some after you’ve perfectly recited that sentence.”

“I ain’t ‘ad nothin’ to eat since last night, professor,” she continued, eyes like steel but her voice just as calm as an autumn breeze. Breezy or not, it shouldn’t make him feel like the wind had knocked him down. 

“Yeah, c’mon Gold, we got a lovely pice o’ stike over ‘ere.”

He glared at the colonel so fiercely he was surprised the man didn’t spontaneously combust. Rather, he tipped his hat back, eyes squinted in confusion, and muttered, “That wasn’t right, was it?”

Belle giggled, her hand over her mouth to keep the candle from moving. He had a desperate urge to rip that hand away and… do something. He hated this – feelings he couldn’t describe, thoughts he couldn’t finish, desires he didn’t understand. None of it had ever happened before this blasted girl showed up in his life.

“Sorry, sir,” she apologized, readjusting her pages even as she shot a curious and longing look at the slab of meat in front of Jefferson. “But I ain’t… haven’t ever ‘ad steak before. Might I try some?”

He knew he was being baited. Everyone had had steak before, it was hardly a rare commodity. At least, he thought it wasn’t a rare commodity. He shook his head to clear it – no, he wasn’t about to let this silly girl change what he thought or how he thought about it.

But, tricked or not, he had to give her something. Just not yet – not when it would make her think he was under her control.

“Continue with your ‘h’s, Belle. If you’ve completed the sentences satisfactorily, then you can have your steak.”

He’d long since abandoned hope of having her argue with him about such things. She only sat herself back down and huffed the letter ‘h’ a few times, watching as the fire moved, before starting again on the sentence.

He walked away before she could come up with some other method of distracting him, taking a seat at the corner of the table across from Jefferson. This was as good a chance as any to get something for her.

“Maybe she just needs an incentive,” he said gruffly, trying to sound as irritated as possible. “There has to be something that can placate her enough to listen to me. Ask her what sort of flower is her favorite. Good incentive and a nice reminder that she’s still a low-class flower girl.”

“Why can’t you ask her?” Jefferson asked suspiciously.  
He chose to ignore that question. “And she looks disgustingly thin. She’ll never fit in with the other women at the Embassy. Perhaps you should buy her a box of chocolates, too. My treat.”

He heard Jefferson drop his cutlery, could almost feel the man’s eyes burning into his scalp. When he couldn’t take it anymore, he raised his head, immediately regretting the decision. Jefferson’s lips were creased in barely concealed laughter, his eyes filled with just as much humor and mischief. Gold sighed – he should’ve known better. The colonel was eccentric, not stupid. He was bound to see through the act.

“I don’t know, Gold,” he said slyly, ogling in Belle’s direction. “All I see are lush, womanly curves.”

Gold focused on slicing his steak, even as a muscle that he didn’t know could twitch started vibrating in his cheek.

“Her arms, her shoulders, her waist, her… well, I hardly need to finish that sentence, do I old boy?”

“You hardly need to finish this conversation, colonel,” he rasped, trying to force down the angry growl in his throat.

“Oh, but why? She truly is a beauty to be admired. I mean… Gold, she’s on fire.”

“Enough!” he snapped, throwing down his knife. “I’ve had enough of this! If you say another word about her –”

Jefferson leapt up like a mad man, sprinting toward the other side of the room as he yelled, “No, Gold, she’s on fire!”

—————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————

Typical – I try to learn and the whole bloody place goes up in flames. That was the only thought in her head as she fanned at the chair she’d been sitting at only moments ago, now simmering with smoke and fire at one of the legs. At least she’d die surrounded by books.

Jefferson and Professor Gold had finally noticed what was going on, at least, and the two men joined her in trying to stamp out the flames. If she were an outsider, she might’ve laughed at the picture the colonel presented, hat askew and tea cup half tipped over while he did the Mexican hat dance around a chair. Another glance at the cup caught her attention, though, and she groaned in exasperation – she was meant to be the stupid one, and yet a professor and a colonel couldn’t think to poor liquid on the fire.

She lunged for the colonel’s cup, intending to pour it over the small spark that was left. Instead, she dropped the sticky thing, causing tea to fly everywhere and a chip to ricochet off its brim. Nevertheless, her plan had succeeded – the fire was out.

At a loss, Belle leant down and picked up the broken china, offering it back to the professor in both hands.

“Erm… sorry about your cup.”

He took it quickly, stuffing it in his pocket and giving both her and the chair a lingering once-over.

“It’s just a chip – look what you did to this seat.”

The look in Gold’s eyes had passed anger – he was downright furious . If she didn’t know the man, she’d have sworn his anger spawned from worry that she’d been hurt.

“That’s quite enough for today,” he panted, setting down the chipped cup. “Better yet, let’s just take tomorrow off as well.”

She should’ve felt relieved by that – after all, she’d very nearly caused her own death. But all she felt was a deep, aching hurt and a well of disappointment in her stomach.

“Why? I can start again – we just won’t use a candle this time. Please, sir?”

He shook his head no, straightening his sleeves and cufflinks. 

“You’re essentially a lost cause, dearie. No matter what we do from this point forward, it’s likely to be a colossal waste of our time. You’ll never become a lady, much less within the next two-and-a-half months.”

Jefferson glared at the man as he made his way to the door, his cane tapping the floor with every other step. He turned to Belle at the last second, though, fierce and sympathetic all at once.

“He doesn’t mean it, Belle,” he said softly, ensuring that the professor wouldn’t hear. “You really are improving, whether you realize it or not.”

He was lying. It was sweet of him, but, still, she knew that he was lying. She wasn’t getting better at all. Professor Gold was right – she’d never get better.

Before she could say anything of the sort, though, Jefferson had grabbed her hand and led her into the hall, shooting yet another glare at Gold who was only now climbing the stairs.

“Jefferson, where are we going?”

“St. James,” he smiled, proffering a tan jacket that went surprisingly well with her new dress. “We are going out for some fresh air and chocolates. Professor’s orders.”

Belle snorted, if only to be rebellious while Gold was still in earshot. “Don’ make me laugh.”

Gold’s shoulders tensed, but he made no other sign that he’d heard her. She wanted, needed, for him to say something to her… she just didn’t know what that something was. But no, off he went up the stairs, making his own slow, lonely trek without a care for her or the colonel. She glared at his retreating back and yanked open the front door.

Just you wait, Professor Gold, she thought to herself, even as she accepted Jefferson’s hand into the carriage. I’ll be a right proper lady yet. Just you wait…


	6. Poor Professor

Accustomed to Her Face (6/15)  
Title: Chapter 6: Poor Professor

Rating: PG-13 (but only because of some less-than-savory suggestions made by some of the characters)

Author’s Note: Wooh! Two chapters in two days - I’m on a roll! Well, I am for now, at least. Sorry to disappoint, but, apart from the first chapter of “Wholly Unspoilt, I wouldn’t expect too many updates from me over the next week. The real world beckons me (ugh). Anyway, hope you enjoy! I won’t beg, of course, but leave comments or suggestions as you please - anything and everything is welcome :) 

 

Belle still considered Professor Gold’s library the closest thing to Heaven she’d ever see on Earth, but, after walking through St. James Park, she now had an idea of what would surround her book-filled paradise. Everything was green, far greener than anything she’d seen in Lisson Grove, and gorgeous trees dotted the path on either side of them. She tried to be subtle about the awe she felt, but not subtly enough for Jefferson not to notice. After seeing how her eyes lit up at the box of chocolate truffles he’d bought her, he promised they’d come so often she would call it “St. Jim”.

The bell on the door to the florist’s shop tinkled overhead, but Belle was distracted by the overwhelming but familiar scent of fresh-cut flowers. It brought back memories of her father’s store in Australia, and, more recently, her own job in Covent Garden. She thought of them every day, but worry over Mulan and Rose hit her like a freight train in this building. She made a note to ask the professor about them in her next moment of bravery or insolence.

Belle removed the white glove from her hand before diving in for one of the dark truffles. It would be sinful, she thought, to stain such a delicate strip of lace. But, as it turned out, she needn’t have bothered – the colonel had already wrapped three of the little spheres in his handkerchief for her to feast on. She literally had to force herself to take only a bite instead of stuffing the trio into her mouth all at once.

“Thank you, Jefferson.”

“My pleasure, Belle. And you said that red roses were your favorite?”

“Yes, but –”

“Your finest long-stemmed red rose, please,” he told he shopkeeper. The man nodded and retreated into the back.

“No one’s ever given me a flar before, colonel,” Belle muttered shyly. “Least, not one I wasn’t s’posed to sell.”

“Not ever? For shame.” He dropped a few coins into the florist’s hand. “Well, may I be the first to present you with your very own flower?”

“You may,” Belle laughed, allowing him to dramatically sweep her from the shop as if they were actors on a stage. “Thank ya so much for this. It’s been lovely.”

“Don’t thank me. Like I said, it was the professor’s idea.”

Belle bit her cheek – if this was Gold’s idea, then she was a fairy princess. She rolled her eyes and looked back to Jefferson’s face, intent on directing her thoughts away from that insufferable man. 

“If I didn’t know better, I’d assume you was usin’ the professor as an excuse to court me.”

“Not quite,” he laughed, redonning his hat. “But I must say that I’m tempted, lovely as you are.”

Belle slapped him on the shoulder and brought the rose to her nose – it smelled divine.

He took her around the whole loop of the gardens, past Blue Bridge and even up to Duck Island. It had been awhile since she’d walked so far, and, though she adored the view, she couldn’t hide her relief when Jefferson finally pulled them to a bench to sit down.

Belle was beginning to think he didn’t know how to sit down properly any more than she did – while she sat straight-backed on one side of the seat, he stretched himself out lopsidedly. He looked artfully at ease, not seeming to care that the pose was reminiscent of an artist’s sculpture. To him, it was just the best way to relax. She wished she could learn to be that free.

“You seem to have a fan club,” Belle smiled, nodding at two young women at the water’s edge who were whispering behind gloved hands and pointing at the colonel. When he tilted his head at them and they immediately broke into childish laughter. He grinned at them and stretched himself out even more on the bench. 

He was everything a woman could hope for in a man, Belle thought. Charming, fun, sweet, just odd enough to keep life interesting. And yet, she didn’t enjoy his company half so much as she enjoyed listening to Gold ramble on about her vowels. She only thought of him as a friend, while she thought of the professor as… well, she thought about him more than she rightfully should, at any rate. There had to be something wrong with her.

“There’s somethin’ I don’t get,” she interrupted, resting her head beside his shoulder when he finally turned back from the giggling girls. “ ‘ow is it that you’re friends with Gold? I mean, you’re pleasant to be around and actually somethin’ of a gentleman.” She scoffed and looked out to the pond. “He’s a right old bastard.”

Jefferson chuckled. “Yes, well, I won’t disagree that he’s unfriendly.”

“Then why d’you put up with ‘im?” 

His laughter died off, leaving him still and silent. She didn’t like – stoniness didn’t suit the colonel well at all.

“I had a wife, before I went to India,” he finally said, his voice low and quiet. “Did you know that?”

If he was trying to get out of talking about Gold, he was doing a terrible job. Belle shook her head no anyway, attempting to look politely interested instead of confused. “What happened?”

Jefferson dropped his eyes to his hands. “She died,” he said plainly, though he couldn’t mask the stab of his words. “She died, giving me the greatest gift in the world – our daughter Grace.”

Belle held her hand to her mouth. “Jefferson, I’m… I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t’ve –”

He waved her off not unkindly, though his eyes remained glued to his lap. “I do appreciate it, but condolences won’t bring her back, so they don’t do me any good.”

He said it so politely that Belle couldn’t keep her heart from hurting for him – that he was still trying to be kind to her when she’d brought back such painful memories. She looked down at her own hands and nodded, even as she knew he wouldn’t see her. 

“I understand all about that,” she said. “Me own mum died when I was six. Nothin’ anybody said or did made me feel better neither.”

She saw the movement of the colonel’s hat out of her peripheral. “I never know whether or not I should be thankful about that. Grace not knowing her mother, I mean. On the one hand, she’ll never know what she’s missing, but, on the other hand… she’ll never know what she’s missing.” He shook his whole body like she’d seen tramps do in the street to ward off the cold. “Anyway, Grace is at boarding school in Germany right now. She could’ve picked any school in the world, but she wanted Germany. ‘The castles are prettiest there, papa,’ she told me.’ She’s obsessed with castles.” Belle could all but feel the grin that lit up his face. “That’s where I was when I got the professor’s last letter. This little jaunt aside, I’m staying right with my little girl until His Majesty calls for me again.”

Belle smiled and turned her face back to his. “You sound like a good father. Better ‘an mine, at any rate.”

“I hope I am. There’s so much I have to make up for.” He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. “Whatever I may be now, I wasn’t always the best father to her. I almost abandoned her just after she was born.”

She couldn’t help but be shocked by that. He seemed like such a good man, she couldn’t imagine him doing something so awful to his child. But, she reminded herself, he didn’t leave his daughter, and he seemed to genuinely love her. She steeled herself before asking, “Where did ya plan on goin’?”

He laughed grimly, a short breath that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. “The grave.”

Before she could begin to process what that meant, Jefferson moved his hands to his neck, unraveling the bow just before his throat. It didn’t take long for the truth to dawn on her, though. She’d never given his cravat much thought – his top hats were so absurdly large that they drew all attention away from his neck. But then, Belle realized, that was probably the point. And here she’d thought he chose such ludicrous headwear as a pun on his last name. 

He unwrapped the last tie and leant close so she could see. Almost imperceptible in the shadow of his chin was a wire-thin scar that circled half-way around his neck. When he thought she’d seen her fill, he wound his cravat back into place and leaned against the bench’s arm. 

“I thought she’d… I thought Grace had died, with my wife,” he said slowly. “The midwife said our baby would never survive after… well, after. I decided that life wasn’t worth it after that. It all happened very quickly, you must understand. There was a knife there, on the table, and I just wanted to see my family. It didn’t work, obviously. When I woke up three days later, I had my very own room at Mount Vernon hospital in Camden.” 

He retied the bow and removed his hat – it was the first time she’d ever seen him without it. He looked tranquilly out at the pond, gazing at the top of some building past the trees. “I’m sure you have no reason to know this, Belle, but Mount Vernon was originally intended to be a sanatorium.”

Belle gasped, unable to keep herself from grabbing his hand. “They didn’t really think you was mad, did they?”

Jefferson shrugged. “What would you have thought, Belle? I’ve always been a bit odd – insanity was a reasonable conclusion. Especially with a butcher’s knife jabbed in my throat.”

He snapped his face towards hers, looking equal parts surprised and apologetic. “Forgive me, Belle. That was vulgar even for me.”

She shook her head, not knowing how else to react to either statement. Thankfully, Jefferson accepted it without question and returned to his tale. 

“As you know, though, Grace wasn’t dead. It broke my heart all over again when I learned that she was alive but stuck in an orphanage because her father was deemed a lunatic. And I really might’ve gone mad if it weren’t for the distraction all of my surgeries provided me. There was a new doctor from Germany, Victor Whale, who’d been experimenting with new surgical procedures, and he ‘reconnected’ my head to my neck, as it were. He was a strangely calm man – he talked, about all sorts of random things, while he was sewing me up. An acquaintance of his, a professor of phonetics in Westminster, came up in more than one such conversation.”

Belle’s eyes widened, understanding beginning to dawn on her, but she let the colonel finish for himself.

“There’s much about this next part that I still don’t understand – did Victor casually bring it up, did Gold dig around for himself? I’m not sure. All I know is that Gold somehow found out every single detail about my situation, and, the next thing I knew, I was back on my feet with Grace, a nanny to take care of her, a residence in Hertford, and a promotion to colonel when I was expecting a dismissal.” He laughed, seeming genuinely humorous for the first time since he’d started talking. “The nanny gave me a letter, too, by the way. I can still remember reading the blasted thing. It was from Professor Gold, as I’m sure you could guess, but the label only said ‘anonymous’. It said that I’d be arrested and Grace would be sent to a loving family far away if I ever mistreated her. I wrote Professor Gold as soon as I’d stopped crying to let him know just how grateful I was. He’d never met me, never met my little girl, but he gave me everything I could possibly need so that the two of us could stay together. So that she could have the best life possible.”

He sat up and looked her in the eye yet again. She felt oddly relieved when he put his top hat back on. “He hides it well, the professor,” he stated, “but he’s had his own share of heartbreak. It’s made him cold, unforgiving where many are concerned. It’s also made him generous in ways that few people ever notice. Few people ever care to look deeper when it comes to him.” He stood up and offered her his hand, goofy grin and charismatic nonchalance back in place. “But that’s not my story to tell. Come along, Belle – it’s almost four, time for tea and another sugar rush!”

Belle giggled as they all but skipped back to the chocolaterie. But she couldn’t deny her shock, her absolute awe, that the man who treated all the world so harshly was the savior of a lonely widower and his child. As she’d told herself earlier, all people were entitled to their secrets. Only now, she wondered just how many secrets her professor had hoarded up. 

She never realized, even when she and the colonel passed the sugar bowl and ganaches, that she’d begun to think of Gold as her professor…

—————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————

Gold sat glumly at the door of his library, trying to read one of his vast collection of medical journals but unable to truly focus. He wasn’t waiting for Belle to return with the colonel, of course not. He certainly wasn’t trying to formulate an apology. That would insinuate he had something to apologize for in the first place. He just wanted to ensure that she was mentally stable enough to continue their lessons, however pointless they might be at this juncture. Actually, not even that – he was trying to read.

He groaned and took another long drink – oh, who was he kidding? Of course he wanted to apologize, he’d all but called her a worthless little girl. For all her faults, her inability to absorb anything he told her, she certainly wasn’t worthless. Nor was she a little girl.

The door banged open, and Gold snapped to attention, pretending to be vastly engrossed with his book instead of watching the door. 

“Very sweet of you, darling, waiting up for me,” the colonel’s voice intruded. Why couldn’t the bloody fool be as unobservant as he seemed to be? 

“I wasn’t waiting, I was reading,” he said coldly, intending to glare at Belle so she’d think he was serious. But she hadn’t come in – it was only Jefferson. 

“Where’s Belle?”

He cringed as soon as the words had left his mouth – he’d meant to sound mildly curious, not out of his mind with worry.

The colonel spared a glance behind him and shrugged. “Not here, obviously.”

“Hatter –”

“Oh, calm down, you old spoilsport,” Jefferson huffed, adjusting that ridiculous hat of his. “We ran into Miss Lucas and your driver on Birdcage Walk, and the maid insisted Belle join them to shop for linens. It shouldn’t take long, Gold, I don’t see Dove gushing over cross-stitch patterns.”

Just as he hung up his coat, the sound of Mrs. Nolan’s voice and a rush of footsteps echoed down the hall.

“See, that must be her now.”

Gold knew better, though – those footsteps were familiar, yes, but not because they were Belle’s. They were too heavy, too sluggish, and too clumsy for even her. He knew who it was long before the man burst into his library.

“You sorry bastard!” Mr. French shouted, eyes glassed and chins wobbling. 

Jefferson jumped back, reaching instinctively for the pistol Gold knew he kept in his pocket. He himself, on the other hand, returned to his book and flipped another page.

“I’m sorry to disappoint you, Mr. French,” he drawled smoothly, “but I’m taking the next two months off from my loaning operation. I could give you a list of other reputable businesses that would more than love to put you in the hole.”

“I ain’t ‘ere fer yer damn money, Gold, I’m ‘ere fer me girl!”

That brought him up short. “What did you say?”

“Don’t play dumb with me, Gold, I know me Izzy’s ‘ere somewhere!”

The colonel’s eyes expanded to the size of dinner plates. “Belle’s your daughter?”

“Yeah! Me own flesh an’ blood! An’ she weren’t even the one what told me she’d moved in ‘ere! ‘ad to ‘ear it from some busybody what’s squattin’ in her apartment! Said Belle had sent fer her trunk o’ books an’ some Chinese tramp’s fan, but that she didn’t need no clothes. What was I s’posed ta think? Me daughter’s gone an’ she ain’t got a scrap o’ clothes to her name!”

“If you were an intelligent man, you would conclude that she bought herself some new clothes elsewhere,” he muttered under his breath, flipping yet another page. He saw Moe’s face flare like a cherry tomato.

“Don’t be cheeky with me, govna! I tell you what I’m s’posed to think – I think she’s pickin’ up tips workin’ as yer private whore!”

For all that he was known as Westminster’s personal monster, Gold could count on one hand the number of times he’d been angry enough to kill. This moment was rapidly edging its way onto that list. No one accused Belle of being a whore.

“Don’t you think I’m gonna stand fer it, neither,” Moe barged on. “She’s 20 years old, me girl, but she’s still my responsibility!”

“If she is your responsibility,” Jefferson growled, “then how could she become an escort for Professor Gold? Wouldn’t you have been keeping a close eye on her?”

For a moment, Moe looked confused, and that was all the proof Gold needed to know that Moe cared about his daughter as much as Gold cared for him. His anger was back in an instant, though – imbecilic or not, Gold had to give the man points for his acting. “Don’t try to trick me with them fancy words! I came cause me daughter’s bein’ used!”

Gold had had enough. He slammed the journal closed, brandishing his cane before him like a scepter. “And what, pray tell,” he sneered, talking slowly to keep his anger in check, “do you intend to do about it?”

Moe blanched, but he was too stupid to quit while he was ahead. “I intend to get me daughter back or have you arrested fer pimpin’ ‘er off.”

Gold paused. This man might be the worst excuse for a father he’d ever seen, but the police would only see the “father” part of his character. Especially if there were accusations of his girl’s kidnapping. Constable Humbert was fair to a fault, and there was no way he’d pass by a case where an innocent woman might be harmed. Unfortunately, it seemed that Moe had come to the same conclusion, judging by the smug look on his face.

“Well, take a seat, Mr. French,” he grumbled, pointing to the leather couch – at least the man’s dirt could be washed off from that. 

“Thank ya, Gold,” he smirked. “Right nice of ya to give me the red carpet treatment.”

The colonel visibly bristled, hand still fluttering over his pistol. Gold didn’t blame him – if he could reach his own gun, he wouldn’t show half so much restraint. 

“Those are your only terms?” the colonel asked. “Return Belle to your custody in exchange for not being arrested?”

“ ‘old on now, govna,” Moe stammered, resting his raggedy boots on the coffee table. “No need ta be so ‘asty. I might be persuaded to let me girl stay fer your enjoyment, I might not. It all depends on what kind of compensation I’ll be gettin’ for me troubles.”

“You’d be willing to sell your daughter?” the colonel fumed. “What sort of man are you?”

Moe shrugged. “A cowardly one. A selfish one. I ain’t ashamed to admit it – I’m in it fer me an’ me alone.”

“I see, so this is less a rescue mission than an attempt to blackmail?” 

Gold was grateful to the colonel for keeping up the other end of the interrogation – it gave him a chance to plan. Or, rather, a chance to perfect his plan. He’d added this particular idea to a list of suitable punishments as soon as Moe had accused Belle of prostitution.

“Blackmail’s a strong word. How bout we go with investin’?”

Jefferson laughed wryly. “And how on earth would this qualify as an investment?”

“Simple – see, if ya give me what I want today, I’ll never darken this doorstep again. You’ll be right shot of me, an’ you can keep doin’ what ya please with my Izzy.” He elbowed Jefferson in the ribs. “She is a pretty girl, ain’t she?”

Gold clenched his fingers around the head of his cane – he needed to think, damnit, not slaughter the bastard. Lord knows his blood would never come out of the carpet. Shame that it would be entirely the wrong shade of red for his mahogany furniture.

“Ah, well, I can see ya ain’t in the indulgin’ mood today. Here’s me offer – five pounds fer the back o’ me head. Take it or leave it.”

The colonel seemed ready to brain the man for his insolence, but this was exactly the window Gold needed. Before Hatter could open his mouth, the professor leapt to his feet, pen at the ready as he tore out a ledger note.

“Five pounds, for a man of your esteem? Why, I wouldn’t feel right giving you anything less than ten.”

“You’ll what!?” Jefferson roared. It took every ounce of Gold’s willpower to keep from smirking – of course the colonel would be just as disgusted as he was.

“I’m giving our good man a ten pound check. And not only that,” he continued, speaking once more to Moe (who looked like he might keel over from shocked joy), “but an anonymous letter of recommendation. You wouldn’t happen to know of a Professor Killian Jones, would you?”

Moe nodded his head dimly. Gold’s inner smirk became a cackle.  
“Pity. He’s absolutely brilliant, a true pioneer in his field. I’m sure he’d love to hear your thoughts on modern morality.”

Moe snapped out of his surprise to slick back his wispy hair and straighten his muddy vest. “Well, I always knew me superior in-tee-lect would be appreciated one o’ these days.”

“Quite. Well, best get on your way. I’m sure there are all sorts of… trinkets, you can afford with your newfound wealth.” Moe’s eyes lit up with unbridled glee. “I’ll have a Mr. Smee stop by your place of address soon to arrange your meeting with Professor Jones.”

Mr. French looked ready to skip with joy, but he turned a squinty eye to Gold and leaned in far too close for the professor’s comfort – he smelt of stale schnapps and tobacco, not a pleasant combination. “An’ this ain’t no trick? Yer givin’ me this money, ‘t ain’t a loan?”

Gold held up his right hand. “On my word, sir.”

Moe gave the room what Gold was sure he thought of as a winning smile before bouncing towards the door. He bowed to Gold, saluted Jefferson, and hopped out the door far too quickly for a man his age with that much alcohol in his system. 

Gold returned to his seat and his medical journal, lazily sifting to the page he’d been on before the interruption. He could feel the colonel’s eyes on him, boring just as deeply as any drill bit. He had to bite down hard on his cheek to keep from grinning when the younger man gasped, understanding finally dawning on him.

Jefferson sat heavily in front of him, eyebrows drawn so close together that they seemed like one straight band of hair. “Professor Killian Jones? Jones? Isn’t that –?”

“Yes,” Gold interrupted, flipping the page. “And if I know anything about our dear Mr. Jones, it’s that he’ll have Moe French out of his money faster than I ever could.”

Gold didn’t look up, but only because he didn’t have to – the smile that had started to grow on his friend’s face could be felt just as well as it could be seen.

Jefferson laughed out loud, barely missing the floor as he collapsed against the sofa. “Highly beneficial indeed! You evil old crook!”

“What do I always tell you, colonel?” Gold smirked to himself, turning to the next chapter of the journal. “Words are the best currency you can deal with. Now go outside and wait for Mr. Dove – I want to know the moment Belle and Miss Lucas are back.”

—————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————

“‘How kind of you to let me come.’ It’s almost lyrical, you see, up and down like the notes of a song. Try again.”

“‘ow kiiiind of ya to let me come.’”

Gold massaged his eyes with the heels of each palm. Belle personally thought he didn’t have any right to complain at this juncture, not when he’d branded her a lost cause but insisted on lessons anyway, but she didn’t dare say anything. Instead, she took another sip of tea (he’d been generous enough to actually give her some instead of making her “work” for it first) and recrossed her legs at the ankle like he’d taught her.

“Dearie, we’re not doing another ‘h’ lesson after yesterday’s… incident.” Belle followed his gaze to the now lopsided chair in the corner. “But I promise I will come up with something just as torturous, if not as deadly, if you don’t pronounce how like it’s supposed to.”

“I’m tryin’, sir,” Belle insisted. “I really am. I just don’t know ‘ow… ‘ow… see, I can’t even say it in a normal sentence!”

Professor Gold leaned back against the wall, wearing what Belle had taken to calling his plotting face. She would’ve labeled it his thinking face, but the ideas he spouted afterwards were so devious that they couldn’t be considered anything less than plots.

The library door beside him eased open, admitting Jefferson’s lanky shadow before the man himself appeared. “Still at it with the xylophone, I see,” he murmured.

“Yes, well, it’s the only way I could think of to get her to hit the right notes when she speaks.”

“Speaking of notes, though,” Jefferson smiled, that mad little grin that never failed to make Belle giggle, “we have completely passed over a vital part of Miss Belle’s education.”

Gold snapped to attention. “And you didn’t think of telling me this sooner why?”

“Because I just now thought of it.”

Jefferson spun a record from the professor’s vast collection between his fingers and loaded it onto the Victrolla. Strains of gentle piano and crying violins filled the room. Belle recognized it as music for a waltz, even though she’d never danced that dance herself. 

“She is going to be attending a ball, after all,” Jefferson continued, offering his hand to raise Belle from her seat. Before she could question his actions, he’d spun her into the professor, somehow positioning their hands to the perfect heights in the process. “She’ll have to learn to dance at some point.”

Gold’s glare could cut steel as he disentangled himself from her. Belle chastised herself for feeling hurt by it. “I don’t dance.”

Jefferson smirked, something secretive and thick passing between his eyes and the professor’s. “Well, it’s lucky that I do, then!”

Belle had the sense to prepare herself this time, knowing exactly what was about to happen when Jefferson took her hands. It was a good thing, too – he was a dizzyingly violent dance partner. 

“Don’t look down,” he reprimanded, twirling her wildly into another movement. “Just follow my lead. You see – left, right, left, spin.”

Belle laughed, holding him tight to keep from falling. “I’ve never done this dance before!” she squealed, feeling like a little girl.

“Really? You’re a natural! Isn’t she, Gold?”

Belle looked around for the professor, but she turned away just as quickly when she found him – he looked positively furious. For some reason, that gave her the odd urge to smile.

“Perhaps we ought to stop,” she whispered in Jefferson’s ear, even as she allowed him to lead her up and down a few steps of the spiral staircase. “The professor don’t look too pleased with us.”

Jefferson smirked, twisting her away yet again and choosing that moment to grant Gold a teasing little wave. “Ignore the old man, he’s just jealous,” he proclaimed loudly. Belle could feel the hairs on the back of her neck bristle as Gold’s gaze burned into her. 

They’d barely managed two more steps when Jefferson suddenly tripped, tugging her to the ground with him. The professor towered over them, cane outstretched where Jefferson’s foot had been moments before.

“As you can see, Belle, dancing is less about fancy tricks than keeping one’s balance.”

The way he said the word “balance” had her groaning before she could bite it back. “But I’ve just spent a whole week prancin’ about with a book on me ‘ead!”

Gold smirked and pulled out a thin, leather-bound book from the shelf at his back. “You’ll be well practiced, then, won’t you?”

Belle could glare just as good as him, and she utilized every ounce of her anger to let him know that. Unfortunately, a knock on the door distracted him – her narrowed eyebrows were wasted. 

“There’s a telegram for you, colonel,” Mrs. Nolan said briskly, sparing Belle a short smile on her way to Jefferson. “It’s from someone named ‘Chess’.”

Both Professor Gold and Jefferson sprinted after the housekeeper, leaving Belle alone in the library. She crossed her arms tightly before her chest, toe tapping rapidly against the carpet.

“Well how d’you like that?” she muttered to herself, glaring sharply at the door. 

She was getting very tired of this wishy-washy behavior. Professor Gold was going to teach her or he wasn’t, there was no and about it. She just wished he’d make up his damn fool mind. 

Belle sighed and turned to one of the professor’s numerous shelves, deciding that she might as well enjoy herself while she was waiting. She’d only managed to read a row of Gold’s books so far, and, while interesting, she still craved more. But there were so many to choose from. Even if she tilted her head all the way back, she couldn’t see the titles of half of his books. That surprised her, to say the least, since the tomes he kept on the very top row of this particular shelf were bigger than her head.

An evil little smirk, worthy of even Professor Gold, graced her lips. 

“I’ll show him well-practiced,” she told herself, gripping the sides of the ladder as she hoisted herself up.

She’d barely reached the top when she heard the library door open again.

“Alright, back to the… Belle? Belle?”

Though she wanted to make him sweat for a few more minutes, she couldn’t hold back her giggle at his expression – he seemed frightened that his little student had performed a magical disappearing act. “Up here, professor!”

His attention snapped to the topmost wrung of the ladder, which she now perched on whilst perusing his collection. “Dearie, what are you doing?”

“If you’re gonna make me march about balancin’ a book again,” she called down, perusing the shelf for a volume big enough to shock him, “you’ll at least let me make it a bit more interestin’. After all, you said I needed practice – a thicker book ought to provide the right sort o’ challenge, won’t it?”

She felt victorious at his stunned silence, and returned to skimming over the giant, dusty books. One was so caked that she doubted anyone had ever picked it up, much less read it. She blew some of the dirt off and wiped it away with her sleeve. 

“Spinning Gold,” she whispered to herself, tracing the letters with her fingertip. “Written by – Professor, you didn’t tell me you were an author!”

“It doesn’t come up in day-to-day conversation, dearie,” he grumbled. She liked to think that she’d embarrassed him, judging from the tinge of pink she saw on his cheeks.

She gave the book a solid yank, more curious about his writing than she’d care to admit, but it stayed firmly in place. She pulled again, and, again, it didn’t budge. She glanced to the professor again.

“What did you do, nail it down so no one could read it?” she panted.

“Yes,” he answered seriously, nodding nervously below her. “That, and, as you can see, it is quite heavy. Wouldn’t want it to fall off and knock some unwitting soul unconscious.”

Belle giggled – who knew that Gold had an actual sense of humor? Nailed down or not, though, she was determined to pull the blasted thing out. She spit on her hands, gave a final tug, and smirked when it came free. At least, she did until she realized she was hanging halfway off the ladder, and, in her attempt to right herself, overbalanced.

For a split second, the stupidity of not taking into account how much slicker these boots were than her old shoes came crashing down upon her. Just as she was about to crash horribly into the floor.

But no – what she fell on was strong, bony, and certainly not any sort of floor she’d ever felt. She wondered if this was heaven, but, then, she didn’t think God was macabre enough to fill his kingdom with bones. After a moment, she finally felt brave enough to look, and almost fell again in shock – Professor Gold, staggering against his cane and all, had caught her. His eyes scanned her body, fingers twitching beneath her knees and waist where he held her. But her eyes never left his face. 

“Nothing serious, Gold,” Jefferson’s voice interrupted, along with a slight snap that signified the closing of the door. “Chess just wanted to update me on another business venture I’ve set him on. Completely unrelated.”

Belle finally wrenched her gaze away from Gold to look at the colonel, beating back the rising flush in her cheeks. Jefferson glanced shrewdly at the professor, then to Belle, then back to the professor again, his hand never leaving the doorknob.

“You cheeky little devil,” he accused, a twitching muscle in his cheek threatening to turn into an outright smile. “All that ‘I can’t dance’ nonsense – you’ve been holding out on us!”

Gold sneered and dropped Belle to her feet, leaving her to stagger against the books for support. He glanced away from both of them, obviously content to pretend that nothing had just happened. 

“Walk in a straight line, dearie, and recite your alphabet,” he huffed, limping towards the cabinets that held his good liquor. It didn’t last long, she would’ve missed it if she hadn’t been staring directly at him, but there was no mistake – his hands trembled the entire time as he sorted through his whiskey bottles.

Belle sat the heavy book on her head and began her march around the room. There was something there, something different between them now. She just wished she knew what it was.


	7. I Could've Danced All Night

Accustomed to Her Face (7/15)  
Title: Chapter 7: I Could’ve Danced All Night

Rating: PG 

Author’s Note: Sorry for the length of this one. I tried to make it longer, but the chapter simply didn’t work when I did. I promise, though, Chapter 8 & 9 both make up for it - I think they took up about eight pages each on my Word Document.

Also, I dedicate this fic to my mentors Lost and Kelly. They’ve been having a real hard time lately, and, though this will do nothing to help them out, I hope they’ll understand how much I care about them and how greatly I want to make it better.

 

Professor Gold leaned back in his winged armchair, a cold compress soothing his forehead and his feet outstretched on the ottoman. Somewhere to his left, the clock dinged once and stopped – it was already one in the morning. 

He’d never worked Belle so hard, never risked her health on trying to make her understand. She was so close, though, he could feel it. There were no more “h”s in ever, the “d” could be heard when she chose to say “and”. Only a few more lessons, and she would be perfect. All it would take was a shove in the right direction.

But then, that also meant a shove in the wrong direction would set her all the way back.

“Once more,” he mumbled, his own voice worsening his migraine. “The rain in Spain stays mainly in the plain.”

“The rine in Spine stays minely in the pline.”

“No, no, no!” he groaned. He looked to Jefferson for help, but the younger man had passed out ages ago, his hat tipped far over his eyes. “There isn’t a single long ‘i’ in the whole damn sentence, dearie, it’s all ‘a’s.” He sighed. “Try again.”

She stared hard at the paper, silently going over each syllable. He doubted she even knew she was crying, though he himself couldn’t tell if it was from exhaustion or actual sadness. 

He wasn’t even aware of making the decision – one minute he was in his seat, and the next he was at her side on the couch, awkwardly holding his hand over her shoulder. Before she could see him, he let it drop to his side and dug about in his pockets. No woman, least of all Belle, would want him to comfort her. 

“Here, dearie,” he muttered, preferring his silk handkerchief.

Her cheeks flushed when she touched to cloth to her wet face, confirming his suspicions. He looked off, giving her whatever false pretence of privacy she needed.

“I know you’re tired, dearie, that your body feels so weak that it could break. I know your head feels cleaved like a hunk of meat hanging in a butcher’s window. But you have to keep trying.”

Her eyes bored holes into her paper, mouth working itself open as she attempted to say the words yet again. To his surprise, though, the sheet fell to the floor, her hands resting cold in her lap.

“I can’t.”

“Belle?” He worried. For the first time in what seemed like years, he was worried about another human being. And he didn’t know at all how to go about handling.

“I can’t read this,” she continued, tears dripping into her lap. “It’s just too ‘ard.”

She finally stared at him, and his breath caught at the dull, grey acceptance that had filled her normally bright-blue eyes. “Maybe you was right, professor. Maybe I just ain’t cut out to be a lady.”

His Belle looked so very small, curled into the arm of the settee as if she hoped she could disappear. She was strong, brave, determined. He couldn’t stand to see her so broken. And he couldn’t bear the thought that he was the one who broke her.

He glanced again at Jefferson, but the man was dead asleep. He dropped his eyes – desperate times, desperate measure.

“It wasn’t always easy for me to speak properly either, dearie,” he said, slowly letting his English accent fall away. The Scottish brogue took over far too easily for him to be pleased with. He saw Belle whip her head towards him in his peripheral, but he continued to look at his lap – he’d never be able to do this if he had to deal with her looking at him.

“It’s become a habit now, somethin’ I do without thinkin’. But it didn’t use to be. You were right, your assumption that I’d always had money. You didn’t guess how foolish of a young man I was, though. See, when I first moved here from Scotland, I was determined I would make m’own way and not rely on my family’s wealth. I was gonnae get a job, have a family.”

He paused, remembering what she’d called him on her first night. “Be an ordinary man. But no one would hire me on with this voice. Said I sounded like a barbarian. Well, barbarians are well known for plundering the wealthy and taking whatever they want. My ancestors were no exception. ” 

His laugh was completely devoid of humor. “I got the wife I thought I’d always wanted, though. You’ll find there’re few fathers of spinsterly girls who care about prestige when you possess my sort of wealth.”

He longed for a bottle of whiskey, just as he always did when he thought about Millie.

“I won’t bore you with the details there, dearie. It was a loveless relationship on her part, even after we had our son, and she was never satisfied with my low class and poor manners. Before we’d even celebrated our sixth-year anniversary, she up and left with some young man from Cambridge. She left me for a con-artist, an absolute pirate. And she took our son with her.”

He closed his eyes, trying to remember the little details of his Bailey’s face. It grew harder day by day. He never let on, but he feared most the day when he would forget what he looked like entirely.

“The deal Colonel Hatter and I made, it was in regards to my son. I’ve been looking for him since the day he left, and the most I’ve found out is that he’s somewhere in America. It took me forever to even find out that much, since all the departments I went to thought I was a raving drunk before I bettered myself. You’d be amazed what a proper English speaking voice will do for you in this place.” 

He shook his head, trying to force the thought to the back of his mind where it belonged.

“You see, that’s why I’ve spent years trying to bury that man in the past. Changing my address, my profession. My accent. I wasted God knows how much money on university. Because, Belle, it’s not about money, see. It’s not even about class. It’s words, and how well you can apply them, that get you what you want in this life. Words will be the key to getting my son back. And words are your key to the rest of the world. You only have to learn how to use them.”

She stared at him almost blinding. Not blinking, not understanding – open, and nothing more. 

He dropped his gaze and walked back to his chair. He’d bared his soul, and she said nothing. He told her everything, and she remained dumb and silent. He’d lost the bet – it was all over now. He’d never see Bae again. And Belle…

No, he thought, shaking his head clear, he couldn’t allow this to get to him. He closed his eyes, trying to let sleep take him. For a few hours more, he could pretend that it would only be her who was affected by this in the morning. That only she would be hurt.

A faint noise tickled the edges of his ears, too quiet to make out or comprehend. He threw his compress at Jefferson, thinking that it was just the man’s snoring, but, though he woke up with a muffled protest, the sound didn’t stop. Only now, he’d figured out what it was – someone was laughing.

He lifted his head to confirm he hadn’t gone crazy. But no – there she sat, plain as day, giggling like a schoolgirl. Belle had finally cracked.

“What’s so damn funny?”

She stopped laughing, but the grin didn’t leave her face. On wobbly legs, no doubt made flimsy from sleep deprivation, she walked to his side, eyes alight with pure joy. She knelt at his side, hands on his, and said, in perfect proper English, “The rain… in Spain stays… mainly in the plain.”

———————————————————————————————————————-

“What was that?”

His own English accent was back in place, but Belle could hear its natural brogue buried underneath. It made such a difference, knowing who he really was. Knowing he trusted her enough to let his guard down for her. 

“Belle, what did you say?”

Belle choked back her manic laugh and repeated, a little faster and surer, “The rain in Spain stays mainly in the plain.”

Jefferson tipped back his hat. Gold ignored him for the moment, though, eyes still glued to Belle. “Say it again.”

“The rain in Spain stays mainly in the plain.”

He blinked, almost as if he still thought himself dreaming. “Gold? Belle?” 

“Once more,” he asked, “for good luck.”

Belle could feel her smile growing, almost as if it was brightening the world around her. “The rain in Spain stays mainly in the plain!”

The colonel leapt to his feet. “By Jove, I think she’s got it! Say something else!”

Belle thought for a moment, then answered almost musically, “How kind of you to let me come.”

Gold laughed, gesturing to her with a wave of his hands. “More!”

She took a deep breath. “In Hartford, Hereford, and Hampshire, hurricanes hardly ever happen.”

“She’s got it! She’s got it!” the professor shouted. She hadn’t even blinked when she felt his strong arms around her, spinning her ecstatically about the room. “You’ve got it, Belle!”

“This calls for a celebration!” Jefferson shouted, quickly spinning on some orchestral record from Professor Gold’s stores. For all she cared, though, he might’ve brought in a brass band

“Tomorrow, Jefferson – well, today, rather – I need you to pick out a nice tea gown,” Gold called over his shoulder, pulling Belle into the first steps of a tango. Under other circumstances, she might’ve worried about tripping over herself due to the fast pace. But he had his arms tight around her, and, for once, she didn’t fear her own clumsiness. 

“Not quite my style, Gold, but as you wish!” the colonel shouted. Belle heard a loud pop, and, a moment later, the cork of a bottle flew across the room. She’d never drunk the stuff herself, but she recognized the sight of champagne bubbling over from all her nights at the gentlemen’s club.

“Not for you, you bloody nutcase, for Belle!” He twirled her out on his arm, cane and all. “I think we should try her out at the races for a test run. The wife of a late colleague of mine should be more than happy to offer up her box for us.”

“I think we should go with something blue, something that’ll match her eyes. Is that in style now?”

“Hell if I know,” Gold chuckled. “Miss Lucas would know best, but she’ll come back with fifteen dresses if I send her. You’re a man, you can be trusted to pick out just one gown. And, besides that, you’re more likely than I to charm the shopkeepers out of their best dress.” 

“Oh, you make me blush.”

The recording came to a halt, and Gold spun her out once more before catching her, holding her tighter than before.

“See, love?” he panted. “I knew you could do it.”

He dipped her low, one arm around her waist and the other hand on her cheek. The backs of his fingers traced down her cheek, and, suddenly, Belle realized something – he’d called her love. Not Belle, not dearie: love. She leaned her head forward, eyes slipping shut, and –

“What in Heaven’s name are you doing down here?”

The professor calmly set Belle back on her feet, his eyes lingering just a moment longer before snapping to his housekeeper.

“Whatever do you mean, Mrs. Nolan?”

“I’ll tell you what I mean,” she huffed, her blonde hair bouncing in its curlers and cap. “You three have been making enough noise to bring the house down. I’m surprised the neighbors haven’t filed a complaint against us.”

Gold turned dryly to Jefferson, his face a mask of confusion. “Noise? Have you heard any noise, colonel?”

“None at all, professor,” he smirked.

Abigail hissed at the pair of them and grabbed Belle by the hands. “Fine, play your silly games, but you shouldn’t keep this poor girl out all night. It’s almost time for her to wake up again.”

Gold actually looked somewhat apologetic at that. “Right. Well, I suppose Mrs. Nolan has a point. Good night, Belle.”

Belle barely had the chance to wave back at him before Abigail was yanking her up the stairs, muttering angrily under her breath the whole way. Belle hardly noticed, though – in her mind, she was still dancing with the professor, and she felt like she could fly.

“Sit down, dear, your hair’s a mess,” Abigail commanded. Belle blinked, surprised to see that they were standing in front of her vanity table. “Lord knows you’ll regret it if you go to bed with knotty locks.”

“Thank you, Abigail.” Belle smiled at her reflection, waiting for Abigail to notice the change in her voice.

“Oh, it’s fine dear,” she answered offhandedly. “But what on Earth has gotten into that man?”

“Why, Abigail, you couldn’t tell?”

“No, I –” Belle laughed when Abigail’s eyes sprang wide, mouth open in shock and brush dangling useless at her side. 

“Oh, Belle, you did it!” she cried, hugging her around the neck. “I can’t believe – well, that’s rude, of course I can believe, you’re so very smart – but – oh, wait till Ruby hears!”

“According to you, she already has.”

Abigail smiled sheepishly, her cheeks tinged with pink. “Sorry about that, dear. I was more angry with the professor than you.”

Belle waved her off, trying to stifle her yawn – now that the excitement had passed, her exhaustion was back tenfold. “Don’t be too harsh with Professor Gold, Abigail. He was only trying to help.”

Abigail stared at her suspiciously, but didn’t question her sudden defense of the man who’d made her last month a living hell.

“Well, I must say you look happier at any rate,” she muttered, unbuttoning Belle’s dress and quickly lacing her into a nightgown. 

Belle opened her mouth to agree, but was stopped by the memory of being held in the professor’s arms. She could still feel his breath on her face, the smell of expensive whiskey, not the cheap stuff that made her father drunk, in her nostrils. The feel of his fingertips on her body made her shiver. The absolute pride and joy she’d seen in his eyes…

And then it hit her, with the force of an oncoming steam train. She wasn’t happy; no, she wasn’t happy at all. Without realizing it, without ever expecting it could’ve happened… she’d fallen in love with Professor Gold.

“Belle?” Abigail asked, her concern obvious as she helped her into bed.

Belle shook her head. For now, this revelation would have to be her little secret. It might have to be her secret for the rest of time – she didn’t know.

She shut her eyes and rolled to the side, willing sleep and dreams to overtake her. Maybe then all of this might make sense. 

“Abigail,” she finally whispered, “I could’ve danced all night…”


	8. Ascot Gavotte

Accustomed to Her Face (8/15)  
Title: Chapter 8: Ascot Gavotte

Rating: PG-13 (b/c Gold is starting to have inappropriate thoughts about his student…)

Author’s Note: For my ANG, who wanted something fluffy today :) Sorry it took so long - power went out where I live, and I was unable to get to my laptop until almost 8 PM. 

And I’m not gonna lie, the relationship between Maleficent, Rumple, & Belle is inspired entirely by Straggle’s Starbucks series: 

 

The Ascot was always a big turnout. Men and their wives, men and their mistresses, men who were stupid enough to bring both, widows, posh girls, effete boys.

It was hardly surprising that Gold only went when he was forced. 

With a strength that belied his age, he pushed aside the old coots who were talking politics by the gate. The opening race didn’t start for another hour at least, which would give him plenty of time to talk with Molly about Belle. He couldn’t see Molly saying no once she met Belle, but, as his student had yet to arrive, he had to perform damage control by himself. Perhaps he should’ve mentioned his guest in his letter to her…

Gold perked up at the end of the east hall. It wouldn’t do to seem guilty from the start, especially when he didn’t feel guilty about it in the first place. Even more especially now that he’d reached her box. As always, she was hard to miss – the vivid green dress she wore, fur collar and all, stood out amongst the crowd of black and white.

“Ah Molly, you look lovely as ever,” he grinned, fingering the mink on her neck.

She slapped away his hand. “Manners, Richard. You wouldn’t want people to gossip.”

“Ashamed of me, dearie?”

Molly sneered, her eyes sharply trained on his smirk. “What do you want this time?”

He put his hand to his heart in mock hurt. “You’ve cut me to the quick, Mol. Why would you ever suspect me of such a thing?”

“Because I know you,” she said drily. “And I’m warning you now, I won’t be joining in with whatever plot you’ve concocted this time.”

She took a quick sip of her chardonnay, swilling it like water instead of the expensive vintage it was. “Thank you for my new ladies in waiting, by the way – I was beginning to run short on servants, what with only two dozen.”

Gold smirked at her. Whatever she said to the contrary, she was always the one to bring up his business proposals. Not that she ever realized it till much later. “They had excellent references. Which reminds me –”

“Oh, here we go.”

“– there’s a young woman I would like to introduce you to,” he continued, as if she hadn’t interrupted. “A new student of mine.”

“You didn’t pick up another Mills girl, did you?”

For some reason, the idea of comparing Belle to his previous students made his blood boil. “Hardly. She’s a flower girl from Lisson Grove.”

That caused a reaction. “I’m listening,” Molly said, slowly setting down her wineglass. 

“The colonel and I have an… understanding, if you will…”

He explained their bet in short order, checking his pocket watch every few minutes as he did. Jefferson ought to be arriving with Belle at any second. 

At the end of the tale, Molly sat with her gloved hands resting under her chin, glaring harshly at him all the while.

“So you mean to tell me that you and that little boy you’ve got staying with have decided to try your hands at making a commoner a lady, and you want me to offer up my opinion on how well she’s done?”

“To put it bluntly, yes.”

She downed the rest of her chardonnay. “Not interested.”

Gold froze. “Not interested?”

“That’s right. Now, run off and tell this Miss French of yours that I can’t be bothered. If she knows you as well as I do, she’ll understand it’s because you stuck your foot in your mouth.”

He flushed red at that, but he kept on.

“You don’t have to worry about her, she’s brilliant. Just wait until you see –”

“It’s not just the girl I’m worried about, Richard. You seem to have lost your mind!”

“If you’d only talk with her –”

“No!” Molly looked abashed at having raised her voice, but she didn’t back down. Rather literally, in fact – she leaned as close to him as decorum allowed and hissed, “Richard, I’d hoped I wouldn’t have to be so blunt, but you haven’t left me another choice – Regina’s here.”

“And?”

“And? For God’s sake, Richard, it’s her job to find phonies and spies by listening to their voices. You trained her, you ought to know that. Do you realize how much trouble you’ll be in if she’s caught?”

“She’s hardly a match for me, Molly.”

“But your girl? She’ll sniff her out in a second. Regina might not be Cora, but she’s certainly not stupid.”

Gold scoffed. “I beg to differ, dearie.”

The stared each other down, neither blinking, neither giving in. He was glad that no one else had filtered into the box yet. 

“You’re not going to give up, are you, Richard?”

He shook his head once. Molly groaned.

“Fine, fine. I’ll let her sit with us.” Gold laughed triumphantly, but found Molly’s hand on his lips before he could say anything else. “But when this little venture comes crumbling around your feet and you’ve got a dead or arrested girl on your hands, don’t come crying to me.”

He refused to let her last words get to him – or, rather, he pushed them back until he could drink them away at a later time. 

“You won’t regret it, Mol.”

She waved her hand to dismiss him. “Where is she, anyway?”

The question had barely left her lips when Gold saw a giant top hat bobbing their way. “I believe that’s her right now, actually.”

Molly made a small noise of approval as he turned to grab them more wine. “Well, she certainly looks the part of a lady.”

“Hmm? I wouldn’t know, I haven’t seen –”

He stopped short. 

Jefferson had shown him the outfit two days ago – a white-blue dress of silk and chiffon, white lace parasol, and bright blue hat – after which Miss Lucas assured him it was a perfect fit for Belle. As such, he hadn’t thought it necessary to see a dress rehearsal before today. He was beginning to regret that decision.

She looked like an angel, some goddess who’d gotten lost on earth and decided to deign her presence on the Ascot. Men’s heads turned, women whispered, but Gold could do nothing but stand and stare. How could he do anything else when she was staring right at him?

“Richard?”

Gold coughed and looked back to Molly. She yanked the glasses out of his grip before they spilled, glaring at him all the while. He wished she wouldn’t stare at him like that, like her squinting eyes could read into his thoughts. He only knew two other people who could do that, and one of them was cleaning up his house as they spoke. The other, of course, was hanging onto Jefferson’s arm.

“Just in time!” the colonel smiled, shaking Gold’s hand before tipping his hat at Molly. “I was afraid we’d be late, what with the traffic and all.”

“Not at all, colonel,” Molly said congenially, though she eyed his hat with great offence. “And I suppose you’re the Miss Belle I’ve heard so much about?”

Belle and Jefferson both nodded. Gold was glad – he was just now shaking off his muteness.

“Belle, may I introduce Madame Ficient.”

“Molly, dear,” she corrected, briefly taking Belle’s hand.

Gold smirked at her over Belle’s head. The look she gave him in return quite plainly said that he should be thankful she wasn’t drunk and in a private setting.

“How kind of you to let me come, Molly,” Belle said softly, accompanying it with a curtsy. Gold couldn’t keep the goofy, pleased smile off his face – it had been three days since she’d finally gotten it, but his joy hadn’t yet worn off.

“Pleasure’s all mine.”

“Madame Ficient?” a woman’s voice cut through the crowd. Gold barely had the chance to analyze the voice – Fuzhou, China before she moved to Westminster – when Belle raced off, squealing for the Asian girl by the fence.

“Mulan!” she shouted, arms wrapped around the girl’s neck. People had started staring at her again, though they had turned somewhat dismissive where before they’d been in awe. His eyes narrowed.

“Belle,” he called sternly, glad that his voice did something beside shake. 

Belle jumped. He could see the blush travel down her hair line to the back of her neck. He wondered if it kept going under her dress…

Gold choked on his wine. Where had that thought come from?

He saw Belle’s lips – and he had to take another swig of wine to stop seeing them, bowed and pink as they were – murmur an apology to Molly’s maid before giving her a hug and parting ways, Mulan towards her mistress and Belle towards him. He thanked God for the waiter that passed by with another full tray of chardonnay. 

He took two, sipping out of his own and holding the other out to Belle. She glanced at him under her long eyelashes, contrite on the surface but defiant underneath. “Sorry, sir – Professor Gold,” she corrected herself. “It’s just that I haven’t seen her in so long.”

“Quite alright, dearie,” he murmured, taking a look at his half-full glass. He downed it in one go. “Shall we?”

Belle nodded and looped her arm through his, nervously fingering the cuff of his sleeve as she did. He tried not to shake at the sensation lest she think he was nervous, too (or worse, actually guessed the turn his thoughts had taken). 

He’d need something stronger than buttery wine to make it through the day…

———————————————————————————————————————-

There were two new people sitting at the table when Gold led her back. Anxious as she felt, though, it might as well have been three-hundred. Belle clutched the professor’s arm tighter, hoping he wouldn’t mind – she needed something solid to keep her steady. But then, she’d felt more like soaring the last few days they’d spent together, so using him might not have been the smartest idea. 

Her worries were confirmed when he moved his hand to her back, gently guiding her and inattentively caressing her waist. She gulped, almost tripping over her the hem of her dress. She’d have to focus if she intended to come out of this alive. 

“Belle French, may I introduce Miss Emma Swan,” Molly stated blandly, gesturing to the young woman in the yellow dress. The young socialite looked like she hated everyone in attendance, her eyes scanning distrustfully over them all. Jefferson hadn’t appeared to notice, though, judging by how close he sat to her. 

“And this is Mr. August Wayne-Booth,” she continued, pointing at a scruffy-bearded man with a grey suit.

“Miss French,” he leered, kissing the back of her hand. Gold’s hand tightened on the small of her back, but she couldn’t imagine why. 

“Mr. Wayne-Booth, you said?” Belle repeated, eyebrows drawn together. The name sounded exceedingly familiar… and then Jefferson jerked his head, shaking it rapidly as if that might make her be quiet, and she remembered. “I do think I know you.”

“You might. I’m a rather famous author, perhaps you’re an admirer of my work?”

Molly smiled derisively. “A writer and a man’s man. My my, August, you must have to beat the young ladies off with a stick.”

He only shrugged, the comment going straight to his ego instead of cutting him off.

“Man’s man?” Belle asked, managing to sound somewhat friendly even as her eyes burned cold. “Is that the term for someone who’d knock over a girl selling flowers in the street?”

Jefferson coughed loudly, but he needn’t have bothered – August was the only one still looking at her (looking at her breasts, more precisely). All of the others had turned around to look at a curvy woman in a black dress and a veiled hat who was swanning their way. The woman didn’t seem to care, though – her eyes were zeroed in on Belle. For some reason, it gave her the distinct feeling of being hunted.

“Lady Regina Mills,” the woman introduced, curtsying to Belle before offering her hand. 

Regina held her fingertips for perhaps a second before she let go, the shortest and strangest handshake Belle had ever felt. “I won’t be staying long, dear. I just came to see the professor’s new protégée.”

Belle tried to speak, to say one of the common pleasantries Gold had drilled into her, but nothing came up. She could only nod, dumbstruck by this strangely regal woman. 

“Well, she is a fine catch, Gold,” Regina purred, turning now to the professor. Still, Belle could see the woman watching her out of the corner of her eye. “I’ll be seeing you both at the embassy ball, I trust.”

“Indeed,” he answered tersely.

“Oh good! Mother’s hosting this year, you know, and she’ll be absolutely atwitter to see you both. Well, I must be off – Constable Humbert’s here, and I’m sure he’s looking for me.”

The woman disappeared as quickly as she’d come, parting the sea of people easily with her stance and large hat. A million questions raced through Belle’s mind, the most prominent being how this woman knew she existed. Gold held her closer, somehow feeling her fear, and she leaned on him as much as she could without causing a scene.

“You’ll be fine, love,” he whispered in her ear, and he needed to stop calling her “love” if he wanted her to focus on something besides his voice. “Just remember what you’ve learned and everything will be fine.”

Belle nodded, pretending that she was soothed instead of set even more on edge, and took her seat between him and Molly. Now that Regina was gone, all attention had fallen back on her, and she scrambled desperately for something she knew how to talk about. 

“You… you said you was… were a writer, Mr. Wayne-Booth?” she asked, flinching at her almost-mistake. 

“Yes,” he answered. Belle was relieved – at least she could count on his being too dense to catch on. “A novelist, to be precise.”

Belle sighed – books. Now this she could talk about. “I do so love novels. I’ve got… I have dozens of my own.”

“Really? Who’s your favorite?”

“I can’t pick just one,” Belle protested. She was glad at least that her accent hadn’t slipped at all, even if her word choices had. “What about you?”

He smirked at her, dipping his gaze to the cut of her gown again. “The same. Well, so long as it isn’t Charles Dickens. He’s hardly a writer at all.”

Belle tried not to be offended by that – just because she was in love with the man didn’t mean everyone else would be. “Why do you say that?” she asked evenly as possible, determined to hear his point of view.

“Well, for one, his works were hardly relevant when they were written, much less now. And then there’s his view of the lower-class. At every turn, he’s romanticizing their actions and condemning those of the rich.” He took a sip from his wineglass, staring smugly about the table as if he’d made a great point. “Besides, I’m sure that conditions aren’t all that bad. No heat, no clean water, no food? Why, it’s preposterous to think that anyone in our great nation lives like that. Unless they’re drunkards, of course, in which case they’ve brought it upon themselves.”

Belle clenched her fists tighter. She wasn’t offended, she’d passed that point a while ago. What she felt was more akin to irritation, bordering on outright anger. She took a long gulp from her glass, even though she didn’t for the buttery aftertaste, and sat back, letting August ramble on.

“Take A Tale of Two Cities, for example. In fact, take it as the example – it’s the magnum opus of 19th century pretentiousness from the lower-class. Why, every other page is an accusation against the upper-class citizens of England.”

Madame Ficient – and Belle felt stupid for not realizing that either she or her late husband was French – glared at the man and asked wryly, “And the French aristocracy?”

Mr. Wayne-Booth blinked, confused. “What of them?”

Belle almost spewed her drink over the table. Had the man even read A Tale of Two Cities? 

“Mr. Wayne-Booth, you do know that the majority of the story revolves around the French aristocracy, not the British,” Molly sneered. 

August blanched, quickly straightening his tie before jumping back in. “Yes, of course. Sorry, I wasn’t quite sure what you were referring to. But yes, the French aristocracy. They’re just as unnecessarily victimized by the writing. Why, it’s not like they killed anyone.”

Belle almost bashed her head against the table. He didn’t know a blooming thing he was talking about! She figured him for an arrogant bastard, but a liar to boot! She gritted her teeth as he went on, speaking in circles about politics and themes that Charles Dickens hadn’t touched in any of his writing, much less A Tale of Two Cities. But he was so adept at it, so good at seeming like he knew exactly what he was talking about. At least when the professor toyed with words there was a truth hidden behind it. 

A smile began at the corner of Belle’s lips. It was a cruel idea, absolutely horrible… but she couldn’t let it go. If he was going to insult her former lifestyle, whether he knew he was doing it or not, she might as well insult his intelligence. 

“Don’t you agree, Belle?” August asked, giving her the perfect window to jump in. 

She dropped the smirk instantly, hoping that the acting lessons she’d learned via her phonetics training would be enough. “Oh, absolutely, Mr. Wayne-Booth. But might I move us onto another topic?”

He had the gall to look relieved. “Of course, Belle, go right ahead.”

Belle twisted to her right, laying her hand atop Gold’s to grab his attention.

“Professor, do you remember that judge friend of mine I was telling you about? Mr. Carton?”

Gold’s head audibly snapped toward her, eyes narrowed suspiciously. “No, I don’t believe I do,” he said slowly. She tried not to look to smug when she turned back to the rest of the group.

“Well, he’s gotten himself into some trouble again, I’m afraid,” she sighed. “Have you heard of the tragedy that befell the man, Mr. Wayne-Booth? It was printed all over the country.”

The professor stiffened at her side, but she refused to glance his way. If she did, she might ruin the effect by laughing. 

“I’m not sure,” August said slowly, looking around the table for help. No one offered – for now, they were all just as confused as he was. “The name sounds familiar, though.”

Of course it does, Belle thought to herself. “Well, you’d recognize him, at any rate, if you saw him. He bears a striking resemblance to the French ambassador, Monsieur Darnay.”

August’s eyes lit up with fake recognition. “Yes, I know the very man now!”

Belle masked her smile by turning it into a deeper frown. “I do hate to be a gossip, but it all started because of the ambassador, actually. It’s quite ironic that Mr. Carton should look so similar to the man and be in love with the same woman as him, too. I’m sure you know her, she’s a lovely little thing, Lucie Manette is.”

The man nodded solemnly. “Ah, Lucie – she is a lovely thing.”

All eyes were on her now, but Belle pressed on. “Well, you’d never guess it, but the ambassador isn’t as rich as he pretends to be. Why, he’s chosen self-induced poverty, of all things.”

August smacked his hand on the table. “This is exactly the sort of behavior I was talking about, Belle. All of this class confusion and romanticism is due entirely to pretentious authors like Dickens.”

“I couldn’t agree more. But then, I can’t particularly excuse Mr. Carton, either, considering he’s a drunkard. I know how you feel about drunkards, Mr. Wayne-Booth.”

He frantically shook his head. “Oh, you misunderstand, Belle. By definition, a drunkard is a man who lives – and drinks – above his means. I’m sure your Mr. Carton simply enjoys the taste of alcohol.”

Belle nodded her head grimly. “Well, drunkard or not, he still got himself into a right mess… I mean, he got himself into some trouble.” She took another drink to hide her snicker. “If he’d just stopped looking after Lucie when it was clear she loves Mr. Darnay, none of it ever would have happened.”

“That’s not quite fair, Belle. In a normal situation, I’d agree that the ambassador has more right to the lady, but not when he’s opted to give away all his earnings. This Mr. Carton fellow sounds far more respectable.”

Belle merely shrugged. “Respectable or not, he still met a rather nasty end.”

“End?” August asked. “Why, you make it sound as if he’s dead.”

“That’s because he is, Mr. Wayne-Booth. They done him in in France, in fact.”

He cocked his head in bemusement. “‘Done him in’?”

Belle blanched, but she didn’t allow her mistake to show elsewhere. “Oh, I’m sorry, Mr. Wayne-Booth. It’s the new small talk, I’ve gotten used to speaking it with my friends. ‘Done him in’ is the term for killing someone. And what a sight it was, too – the bloodthirsty crowd, the executioner, the guillotine –”

Belle paused for the effect, waiting for August to notice what was wrong with that statement instead of trying to look down her chemise. When he did, she smacked her hand to her forehead, feigning utter embarrassment. “Oh dear me, I’ve done it again! I’m thinking of Sidney Carton, not Judge Carton. You know, the main character of A Tale of Two Cities? Why, that character’s not even a judge at all! Silly me – I suppose that’s the price I must pay for reading just a pretentious story. Muddles the brain, you know.”

Jefferson slammed his head against the table, causing the centerpiece to jump a foot in the air. She might’ve felt embarrassed herself if it weren’t for the small cough she heard to her right. A quick look in the professor’s direction showed that he was sporting a great smirk. Her heart fluttered – she’d impressed him.

“August, why don’t you lead Belle around the perimeter?” Molly interjected, sipping regally from her glass. “I’m sure she’d love to see the horses.”

August hopped to his feet so quickly that Belle was surprised he didn’t fall. “It would be my pleasure, Madame. Belle?”

Belle glared at him, willing him to understand that she had no interest in him whatsoever. But, then again, if he hadn’t gotten that impression by now, he wouldn’t any time soon.

“Thank you, Mr. Wayne-Booth, Molly. It will be interesting to see who’s betting on the losing horse.”

Emma’s eyes were wet with tears of restrained laughter. Belle congratulated herself – the woman obviously needed something to cheer her up.

Just as August took her waist, drawing his hand a bit lower on her hip than she thought was appropriate, Molly leaned across the table, balancing on the professor’s shoulder. She said only three words, but Belle didn’t miss a one:

“I like her.”

Belle had to bite her lip to keep from laughing herself. Maybe today wouldn’t be so bad after all.


	9. Opening Race

Accustomed to Her Face (9/15)  
Title: Chapter 9: Opening Race

Rating: PG

Author’s Note: Apart from the Embassy Ball chapter and future sex scene (which, yes, has in fact been added to this story), this was my favorite part to write for the entire series. It was my favorite scene in the original movie, and I guess I brought that favoritism into the writing. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it :D

 

Belle scanned the people’s faces as they moved through the crowd, pausing occasionally to bow and curtsy at important guests. Mulan said she’d be milling about on the green in case Madame Ficient needed anything, and, now that she was away from the professor, she would be free to talk with her. Just because she loved him didn’t mean he suddenly owned her. 

“Here we are, Miss Belle,” August’s voice interrupted, tugging her away from the woman she’d been watching. It wasn’t Mulan, of course – the hair was straight enough, but it didn’t have that blue-black tinge that Mulan’s did – but she still didn’t appreciate being manhandled. She appreciated the view he’d directed her towards even less.

When Molly had suggested that Belle be introduced to the horses, she thought she might actually get to see them and their jockeys in the gate. Instead, she was taken to a small paddock next to the fence, close enough only to see what color each steed was. It was disappointing already, but the pressure of August’s hand on her back made it even less enjoyable.

“I’m betting on that red Westphalian on the left,” he droned, gesturing to the long horse at the end of the pin. “Pleasure Island, he’s called. Solid third place at the moment. He’d be second, but Diablo – that’s Madame Ficient’s bet, the black Andalusian – has taken up that position.”

She could see why the jockey had named his horse “Diablo” – she didn’t know if it was the breed in general or just this particular horse, but it had something of the devil in its eyes. 

“Who’s in the lead?” she asked curiously, wondering who could possibly beat Molly’s demonic racer. 

“Dulcinea,” he said coldly, pointing at a brown horse with the words “Dutch Warmblood” printed on its gate. “Lady Regina’s mount. Quite literally, in fact – she owns her, but it’s all rather hush-hush. You’re not allowed to bet on your own ride, after all.”

Belle crossed her arms tight about herself – she didn’t know anything about this Regina woman, but, the more she heard, the less she trusted her. She shook her head to rid it of the hateful thoughts and turned back to the row of horses. One, a beautiful if not a bit dusty speckled horse at the very end caught her eye.

“Whose is that?” she asked curiously, watching as it lazily whinnied at its jockey. 

August’s lip curled mockingly. “That old Irish Draught?”

“I suppose,” Belle muttered irritably. “I’m not actually familiar with horse breeds.”

He shrugged, unperturbed by her attitude towards him. “Well, the horse’s name is Philippe. A Frenchman, Monsieur Lumiere, owns him. Dead last, hardly worth your time.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” she scoffed. “Here.”

She fished out the one-pound note Professor Gold had given her, stuffing it unceremoniously into August’s free hand.

“A pound that Philippe wins. You can offer it up with your own bet.”

She didn’t miss the lascivious look in his eye, and, though her gloved hand kept their skin from direct contact with each other, she still felt filthy. She wrenched her arm away and grabbed onto the fence, hoping he’d take the hint and leave her be. Thankfully, like every other self-centered man she knew, the idea of betting on something was more enticing than looking down her chemise.

As he pranced off for the betting tables, shoulders set with an arrogance that made her skin crawl, Belle walked to the other sight of the paddock. There were fewer people on this side, likely the nouveau riche or tagalongs. People like her, in other words. She checked quickly to make sure no one was staring her way, then, hanging her hat and parasol on the gate, stepped into the stalls.

The jockey nearest her – a tiny man, shorter than even herself or Professor Gold – gave her a funny look but didn’t stop her, which Belle took as a good sign. She went as quietly and carefully as she could behind the horses’ fences, stepping all the way to the other end where Philippe rested. He was all alone in his stable, neither his jockey nor the owner present. Belle frowned – she was beginning to understand why the poor thing never won. 

Not wanting to scare him, she went as slowly and quietly as she could, grabbing a brush off the bench as she approached. “Hey, fella,” she crooned, running her fingers along his flanks to get him used to her. “Would you like to be brushed?”

The horse stomped his front hooves, avidly nodding his head forward. Belle laughed. “That’s what I thought. Just hold still for a mo’.”

He whinnied happily when she brought the brush down on his neck, scraping back the dirt and loose hair as it went. His mane tickled her fingers, and she resisted the urge to hug him – he was a rather large stallion, after all.

“I’m just like you, you know,” she murmured absentmindedly. “We’re both stuck with people way above our class. We’re both losing, too. But see, this man told me we could change everything with a few words. I don’t know that that’s true, but I’ve seen how far affection goes. So, maybe, after I’ve brushed you down good, you’ll do better in the races. That sound good, boy?”

“Psst! Belle!”

Belle jerked up, worrying for a moment that Philippe had actually spoken. But that was preposterous, whether horses could talk or not – she knew that voice, and recognized it immediately as soon as her shock had subsided.

“Mulan?”

Belle had barely managed to step away from Philippe and set the brush back on the bench before her arms were filled with a much taller Chinese woman. Silky black hair tickled up her nose, but she didn’t care a bit – she was with her best friend for the first time in a month, the longest that they’d ever been apart. 

“How are you?” Belle asked, wiping the tears from her eyes. “Are you sick? Were you pregnant? What happened?”

“I’m fine, Belle,” Mulan laughed, finally pulling herself away. They held onto each others’ hands even so, not willing to part again just yet. “No diseases, no baby, thank God. ‘t was just some bruisin’ an’ things.” 

Her eyes turned serious rather quickly, and her hands gripped Belle’s even tighter. “Thank you,” she said meaningfully. “Might not o’ been bad as we thought, but I might be crippled if it weren’t for that doctor you sent me. An’ then you got me an’ Rose real jobs… just, thank ya, Belle. You’ve always taken real good care o’ me.”

“Weren’t nothin’, Mulan. I mean, it wasn’t any trouble.” Belle had to wipe her eyes again. “How is Rose, anyway? I haven’t seen her.”

“She’s here someplace.” She leant in conspiratorially, looking half-annoyed and half-amused. “Made real good friends with Madame’s cab driver, Phillip.”

Belle put her hand over her mouth to keep from giggling too loud – it was so strange to imagine little Rose with a crush. But then, she was chasing after a man the same age as their father, so who was she to talk?

“So she’s doing fine with the work, then?” Belle asked, allowing concern to dim the humor of the situation. “She isn’t being pressed too hard?”

Mulan waved her off. “Nah. Mostly she just fetches an’ carries things. Washes our new uniforms.” She sneered at that, and Belle’s lip quirked up again – she know how much her best friend hated wearing dresses. “She still faints, o’ course, but Madame thinks it’s cute. Odd bird, she is.”

Her almond eyes grew wide with excitement again, and she practically jumped on the balls of her feet. “But look at you! You’re a right fine lady now, Miss Belle! ‘It wasn’t any trouble,’ she says.” Mulan elbowed her in the ribs. “Smart arse. An’ yer dress, love, it’s gorgeous. Any man at that gentleman’s club o’ yers would love to have you on their arm now.”

“Oh hush,” Belle giggled. 

“Hey, I was one o’ them men for a mite, I know how they think. But then, maybe yer too proper fer ‘em now, love. Hell, yer already too good for me an’ Rose.”

Belle recoiled in shock. “No I’m not!”

Mulan laughed at her and nudged her with her foot. Belle knew that she was joking, that she probably thought Belle was still joking, but it didn’t take the sting out of her words. Especially not with her spirit animal behind her, sitting in the dust and losing from a loss of affection.

“Yes ya are, Belle. Pretty, sweet, an’ proper – too good fer the likes of us.”

“It’d be the same for you and Rose if you’d been given lessons.” Belle cringed as soon as the words had left her mouth. Why hadn’t she gotten them lessons? Why hadn’t she asked Professor Gold to make them into ladies, too? How could she be so selfish?

Mulan’s smile dropped. “Belle? Ya know I’m only jokin’, right? I ain’t sayin’ that yer –”

“Who’s there?”

Belle and Mulan both spun around, leaping away from the smooth voice in the shadows. A woman all in black stepped forth, her veiled hat hiding the curve of her brow. It was Lady Regina.

“Oh, Miss Belle!” she simpered. “I thought I recognized your voice.”

She paused briefly in front of Mulan, giving her a nasty once-over. Though obviously angry, Mulan curtsied to both her and Belle. “I’ll leave you two alone, then,” she muttered. 

Belle reached out for her friend, but, remembering her present company, quickly moved to fix her hair instead. Something about Lady Regina set her off, and, for some reason, she felt it would be foolish to give too much away in front of her.

“You haven’t come to tamper with my horse, have you?” she teased, twirling her lace parasol overhead. Belle shook her head no, hoping the refusal wasn’t too instantaneous – she didn’t want to be accused of rigging the race.

“You… you must be very proud of her,” Belle stammered, edging out of Philippe’s stall – being in a tight space while Regina stared on frightened her more than it had the right to. “Mr. Wayne-Booth mentioned that she’s the current winner.”

“Are you surprised?” Regina smirked. “A little mare beating all of these stallions?”

“I don’t know anything about horses, ma’am,” she answered meekly. “It’s strange, then, for a mare to win?”

“It’s always strange for a woman to win, dear.” Her eyes drew together in concentration. “I suppose that means you can’t be Spanish, then, to know so little about horses. But then, I could’ve guessed that much already from the paleness of her your skin.”

“Excuse me?”

“Where you’re from, dear,” Regina chuckled, trying to sound motherly but coming off condescending. “It’s quite the mystery, you know. It seems that Professor Gold just snatched you out of thin air to teach you English.”

Belle didn’t know what to say. In fact, she thought it better that she didn’t – who knew what Regina might pick up from her accent? Her palms started to sweat, her fingers began to twitch. She felt like a rabbit in a cage.

“We can keep it just between you and me, Belle,” Regina whispered, stepping even closer. “I promise I won’t tell a soul. I’m just so very curious about you.”

She opened her mouth but just as quickly snapped it shut – no talking, she reminded herself. That only amused Regina more. 

“What are you? Asian, perhaps? But no, your skin isn’t quite yellow enough. Icelandic? German? Come on, dear, you can give me a hint –”

“Ah, Regina. I see you’ve found time in your busy schedule to heckle my student.”

Belle heaved a sigh of relief – for the first time today, she was grateful for an interruption. She was even more grateful, of course, that it was her professor who’d come to save her.

“Professor Gold,” Regina sneered, her voice more curt than polite. “I assure you I wasn’t ‘heckling’ anyone. We were merely indulging in some girl talk.”

Gold laughed at her, the sound menacing enough to send shivers up Belle’s spine as well. “I see. Well, I’m sorry to cut your little chat short, dearie, but we really must get back to our box. Madame Ficient is practically begging for an audience with her.”

Regina turned crisply away from the man, her predatory smile pinned back into place. “Another time, dear,” she said, nodding briefly in Belle’s direction. 

With a final, cheeky grin at Professor Gold, she sauntered off toward her mare’s stall, disappearing into the shadows and the curve at the end of the wall. Belle collapsed against the wall, hoping she wasn’t staining her dress in the process.

“Are you alright, Belle?” the professor asked, putting both hands on her shoulders. She nodded, but she wasn’t sure that that was the truth.

“Who is she?” she asked, angry at her own voice for whimpering. 

She was thankful that the professor immediately understood. “A jilted ex-student.” He scoffed, sparing a quick glare in the direction Regina had left in. “Thought she could beat me and stormed out like a child having a temper-tantrum when she couldn’t.”

That made some degree of sense – it explained why she was so jealous of Belle and so angry at Gold. It didn’t, however, explain why she was so hateful about it all. 

Gold sighed, wrapping his whole arm about her waist. “Let’s get back to the crowds, love.”

She shivered at the words, but turned the spasm in her neck into a nod at the last minute. For the first time, she noticed that he’d grabbed her hat and parasol on his way in. She graciously took them back, glad to have something to cover herself with. 

There were too many emotions racing around in her brain, too many fears and worries and wants and desires to keep straight, even to herself. She leaned on Gold for support, hoping he would neither notice nor care. 

It would help if she could talk to Mulan, explain to her just how very sorry she was for thinking only of herself and refusing her and Rose the chance to become ladies. If she could reveal how she truly felt about the man at her arm. If she could get out of this damned suffocating arena. 

And it wouldn’t hurt if she was given the chance to punch Regina in the face, either.

There was one thing she could take care of now, though, one thing she could focus all of her energy into. Philippe had to win. And she was going to bet her whole one-pound note that he would.

“May I stop by the betting table first?” she asked timidly.

The professor chuckled. “Place a bet, did you?”

She nodded yes, hoping that she looked shy instead of afraid. It seemed to have worked. 

“Go on, then. I’ll wait for you by the pillars.”

His hand lingered a moment too long on her elbow, which Belle tried and failed not to notice. He shouldn’t tease her so when he clearly harbored her no affection. 

She shook her head and stepped up to the old man at the desk. “Excuse me, sir, but might I check on my bet? I’d just like to see what the specifics were again.”

“Of course, miss,” he smiled politely, rifling through the list in front of him. “Name?”

“Belle French.”

He quickly scanned down the names, his fingers tracing through the “F”s. The longer he looked, the more he squinted his eyes.

“Is there a problem, sir?”

The man checked the list once again before setting it down in front of him. “Yes, I’m afraid. It seems that you haven’t placed a bet at all.”

Belle turned pink, her body unable to decide between “white with shame” or “red with anger”. “Are you quite sure? I had Mr. Wayne-Booth place it for me just minutes ago.”

The man gave a dry chuckle and gently patted her hand. “That would explain it then, miss. He’s the worst gambler I’ve ever seen.”

Belle’s eyes widened in understanding – Mr. Wayne-Booth’s lust, it seemed, was geared more towards her money than her body. 

She marched away without another word, hoping the old man wouldn’t think her rude. She couldn’t believe it. Here she was, well-dressed and even better-spoken, and she was still treated like trash. Here she was, a lady, but she was still nothing more than a flower girl. 

———————————————————————————————————————-

Belle looked absolutely on edge as she marched back to his side, face aflame and chest heaving. Gold tried not to be focus on the latter – she was upset, after all, the last thing she needed was him gawping at her. But then, it would help if he knew what the problem was to begin with. 

He took her hand at once, entranced by the feel of her lace glove on his fingertips. The contact seemed to soothe her somewhat, so he stepped in even closer, pushing his own desires out of the way. (He also pushed aside the thought that he hadn’t put his own desires on the shelf for anyone else in quite awhile.) Before he could ask her what was wrong, though, the colonel had hopped in, grabbing them both by the elbows. 

“Race is about to start,” he grinned, pulling them to the gate. Belle almost giggled when the man’s hat tipped precariously on his side, and Gold was torn between jealousy and happiness that something had amused her. 

The ring was silent as everyone gathered around the fence, standing dully in wait for the race to begin. This was the part that always confused him the most – some men, men like Mr. Wayne-Booth, for instance – bet their whole livelihood on such races, but there wasn’t a trace of excitement in the whole crowd. Not even when the starting gun went off, a bang loud enough to reverberate in many of their ears, did any of them seem excited. 

But then he looked to his right, and he realized that wasn’t quite true.

Belle was jumping frantically up and down, holding onto her hat to keep it from falling as she chased the horses with her eyes. He could see her lips moving, but only after leaning in closer could he understand her words. For whatever reason, she was muttering, “C’mon Philippe!”

Gold followed her gaze, landing on a grey Irish Draught in the middle. He could’ve sworn the beast was dirtier in the last race, and that it had been placing dead last, but he didn’t care enough to second guess himself on it. Instead, he put all of his focus back on Belle, watching her bite her nails when the horse started falling behind. Regina’s mare passed it up in an instant, rounding off with Molly’s steed and leaving Philippe in the dust. 

Belle jerked away from his hand and leapt up on the gate, curling the iron under her fingers to keep from slipping.

“Belle –?”

“You stupid old horse!” she yelled, overriding his own almost-question. “Hoof it!”

The Irish Draught continued to fall back. Gold imagined he could see steam coming from his Belle’s ears.

“Philippe, move yer bloomin’ arse!”

A train of gasps followed Belle’s words, mostly from the old ladies in the nearby boxes. Men covered their wives ears, though they themselves had turned a nasty shade of puce, and several had headed for the exit, complaining about lowered standards at the Ascot. Then a dull thump resounded through their own box, and Gold turned around, positively shocked at the sight before him: Lady Regina, prim and proper thing that she was, had fainted at Belle’s swearing, and landed atop the colonel’s fallen hat, which he was currently trying to pry out from underneath her. 

Gold couldn’t help it – he laughed louder than he had in decades, holding onto the chair in front of him to keep from falling. No one noticed with all the other commotion – no one but Belle, at least, who almost smiled at him. He tried to speak, tried to at least say, “Well done,” but nothing would come out between his loud chuckles. She seemed ready to join in, her red face fading once more to ivory-peach, before it went to hell all over again.

“What insolence!” someone shouted, pointing directly at his girl.

Belle’s smile dropped. For a moment, she seemed a little girl, ready to cry and fall into the arms of someone bigger. But, at the end, his Belle was always a woman, and she held her head up high… before running straight for the exit.

Gold’s laughter instantly died. He, Jefferson, and Molly, of all people, set off after her, dodging people left and right as they tried to catch up. Thankfully, even with the growing crowd outside, her blue hat mad her hard to miss.

Belle was trudging back to the carriage as if she was part of a funeral procession, head hung low and mouth set in a grim but wibbly line. Gold couldn’t see why – he thought she’d been brilliant, especially (not “in spite of”) for her slip in the end. Anyone who said otherwise could shove his cane up their arses.

But then, he couldn’t stand to see her so upset, either. He felt like a damned woman with all these mood-swings.

“Richard!” Molly called from the cobblestones, hands planted angrily on her hips. Gold looked toward Jefferson, but the man waved him off, mouthing that he could handle Belle himself. He tried not to let that bother him.

“Yes, Molly?” he asked, stepping up in front of her. A slight woman with the same color hair as Belle’s stood beside her, looking anxiously past his shoulder for her. Gold realized that that must be her sister Rose.

“I suppose you’re headed home,” she snapped.

Gold couldn’t see what she had to be mad about and, as such, merely nodded. ”I can’t see her willingly returning to the races. Besides, they’re practically over now. It’ll be nothing but small talk until dark.”

Molly groaned. ”The small talk - gossip, specifically - is what worries me.”

She glanced carefully in both directions before pulling him close. The flowers in her hat tickled his hair, and he exasperatedly batted them away. 

“Be careful, Richard,” she whispered, her voice entirely stern for all that it was quiet.

Gold smirked and disentangled them. ”It was just a slip, Molly. You must remember that Belle’s only been speaking properly for three days, she’s hardly an expert. She’ll be perfect by the time the Embassy rolls around.” He let out a coarse chuckle. “Besides, it was more than worth it to see Regina fall flat on her ‘arse’.”

Molly gave him a shrewd glare, her hand snapping out of his. “I’m not talking about Belle. You can have her trained up in the next few days, let alone the next two months.”

Something about the way she said that set him on edge. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, dearie.”

“Like hell. Don’t think you can hide the way you look at her from me. And certainly don’t think you can hide it from anyone else.”

Gold’s stomach dropped. “What do you mean, the way I look at her?”

She huffed, a single breath that told him the conversation was over. “If you need me to tell you, you play the fool better than I thought. But if Regina or her mother finds out that you’re in love with that girl, you’re both done for.”

Molly spun away from him to face the road, too quick for him to do anything in his current state of numbness. 

“Rose, dear, fetch my cab!” She turned once more to Professor Gold, wearing a look both irate and mournful. “See you at the ball, Richard.”

He reached out to grab her, interrogate, something, but she was already marching off with Belle’s stepsister in tow. His hand clutched thin air, his heart beating up into his throat.


	10. On the Street Where You Live

Accustomed to Her Face (10/15)  
Title: Chapter 10: On the Street Where You Live

Rating: R, because now Gold is allowing himself to have some reeeeeeeeally inappropriate thoughts

Author’s Note: And here we are on the homestretch! Just 5 chapters to go, people! And maybe an epilogue, if you ask nicely *winks*

Oh, and by the way, the song this chapter is named after is my favorite from the whole movie. I don’t care a thing about Freddy, let alone ship him with Eliza, but the song is absolutely perfect. Check it out if you don’t already know it:

 

Belle was silent for the entire five-hour ride home. Even when Gold tried to tempt her with the libraries near Heston, she merely twiddled her thumbs and looked blankly out the window. He tried not to be too pleased when Jefferson’s attempts to do the same with chocolate didn’t work either. 

At first, it was merely worrisome, but by the time they entered Westminster, Gold was in a right panic. If she’d only speak, he’d know that everything was okay. But she didn’t even offer him a glance, blue crystal eyes focused unblinkingly out the carriage window.

He was only concerned for her health, he told himself. Molly’s words and suppositions had nothing to do with it. He was only worried that she might’ve gotten sick or, more reasonably, still upset about her slipup. Not that he could see why she should be – her performance was nothing short of outstanding.

“Gold, are you coming?”

Professor Gold snapped out of his reverie – they’d already reached his home. 

“Yes,” he muttered dismissively, pushing himself out the door. “Sorry, colonel.”

But the young man’s attention had already flitted back to Belle. She stood dejectedly on the front stoop, limp as the dead while she waited for Mr. Dove to open the door.

“Miss Belle, please say something,” Jefferson begged, tapping her lightly on the shoulder. Her eyes remained glued to the steps as if he didn’t even exist. Or, more accurately Gold thought, that she didn’t exist. 

Mrs. Nolan bustled into the foyer as soon they entered in, feather duster flailing in one hand and holding firmly to her hip with the other.

“Back already?” she asked curiously. “Well, dear, how did you like it? I’m sure you blew them all away in that dress.” 

Belle said nothing. She stumbled past his housekeeper without a passing glance, headed decidedly for the stairs. Gold marched to the foot and called after her, hoping she might stop for him.

“Belle, it’s –”

“I’m going to go take a bath, professor,” she mumbled, continuing her slow trek up the stairs. She didn’t look broken, which relieved him to no end, but quiet shame still wafted off her in waves.

Miss Lucas looked worriedly at the housekeeper, but she merely nudged her off, insinuating that she should follow Belle upstairs. When the young women had finally disappeared, Mrs. Nolan grabbed both men by the hands and dragged them into the library, clipping the door shut behind them.

“What happened, professor?” she whispered. “Did someone find out?”

Gold answered “no” just as Jefferson said “yes”. Mrs. Nolan tsked them loudly.

“Well, which is it?”

The professor shot a sharp glare in Jefferson’s direction to keep him from speaking up again. “No one found out, Mrs. Nolan. Our dear colonel, here, is just being paranoid.”

“Paranoid?” the colonel screeched. “Gold, she yelled ‘Move your bloomin arse’ at everyone in attendance!”

Professor Gold dissolved into a heap of laughter, not even attempting to stay standing. “You should’ve seen Regina’s face, Mrs. Nolan!” he howled. 

His housekeeper ruffled up like an angry hen, but Jefferson pecked him first.

“You aren’t worried a bit, are you?” he growled. “You honestly think this was a good time.”

“Good time? Hatter, it was a damn brilliant time!”

Mrs. Nolan’s duster whacked him upside the head. “I won’t put up with such vulgarity, professor!”

“Then you best get out, dearie, cause I’m not bloody stopping.”

She threw her hands in the air, letting her duster clatter to the floor. “Fine – I’m going to check on Miss Belle.”

Gold continued laughing even when she exited the room. He knew that Belle was upset about what had happened, and the thought of her crying because of it made his heart hurt in ways he didn’t want to analyze in the least, but he couldn’t quash his pride. His girl had been herself from start to finish and put all those uptight wankers in their place. 

Jefferson interrupted him by taking a loud gulp of the nearest port. “My nerves can’t handle this,” he mumbled, gently massaging his temples. “You can stay up and laugh about it, Gold, but I’m going upstairs to get some sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Gold waved him off, not in the mood for his poor spirits anyway. It was so rare that something put him in a good mood, and he wasn’t about to let Jefferson’s doubts or Molly’s suspicions get to him. 

But then he remembered the embarrassment in Belle’s eyes. No one could stop his happy day but her, it seemed.

He flourished his worries away. Belle was just fine, he was sure of it. If a hot bath were half as good for a sour mood as it was for sore muscles, she was probably feeling better already. In fact, she was probably lathering herself up right now, knee deep in bubbles and wiggling against his white porcelain. 

The idea made him grin. She’d look delicious in that claw-footed tub, spread out with nothing but suds to keep her body company. Without meaning to, a series of other ideas sprang into his mind. What if the bubbles weren’t all she wanted on her skin? He wondered if she’d like his hands there, too, playing up her ribs, her waist, her hips. Would she be small and trim like her clothes suggested, or was it all a trick of her corsets, her body truly plump and round? 

Maybe she wouldn’t just want a touch, though. Maybe she’d like him to caress her, massage her body and promise her everything would be alright. He wondered if she’d like his words in her ears, or if she’d like them both to be quiet for a change.

He wondered if she’d eventually like him to join her in the tub, and what might happen if –

“Professor?”

Gold jerked up in his chair, nearly falling over in the process. His clock dinged loudly overhead – it was already 8:00. The time wasn’t all he noticed, though – the thoughts he’d just been entertaining seemed to have put a strain on his trousers.

“Professor, are you still awake?”

Professor Gold scanned nervously around the room, looking for something to cover himself with. It would be beyond mortification if his housekeeper caught him like this. Finally, his eyes landed on the thick tome Belle had recently been using for her balance practice. He lunged for the book and slammed it on his groin, wincing at the splitting pain it caused. 

“Ah, there you are,” Mrs. Nolan huffed, sliding in through the side door. “I thought you’d decided to go to bed at a decent hour for once.”

“How is she?” he squeaked, voice at least two octaves too high. Mrs. Nolan gave him a startled glare, and he quickly coughed to lower his voice. “I mean, how is Miss Belle?

Mrs. Nolan stared him down for another moment, but, apparently seeing nothing wrong, relaxed her features to mild worry. “Well, I actually came down to ask if you wanted tea.”

“No, thank you,” he coughed.

Mrs. Nolan shrugged. “She’s abed right now. Poor dear – she’s so embarrassed.”

“She has no reason to be,” he groused. “As I said, she was perfect.”

“Unfortunately, she doesn’t quite see it that way. Maybe if you went up and talked to her…”

She let her voice trail off, the mere insinuation a good enough point on its own. Gold groaned, adjusting the book in his lap and praising God when nothing sprang up behind it. 

Thankfully, Mrs. Nolan said nothing more as he swaggered from the room, depositing his friendly book on the hallway table. He didn’t think it was possible to feel more embarrassed at the moment, but he was glad not to have the opportunity to find out.

The door to Belle’s room was closed tight, which set him off despite being such a normal sight. It forced the arousal out of his brain, his only thoughts now being concern for her. He tapped once before entering, and was immediately shaken by the picture that met his gaze. His Belle, his precious little student, was red-eyed from crying. 

Before he could stop himself, he’d made it halfway across the room to sit studiously on the edge of her bed, petting the comforter beside her as if that might offer her aid.

“What’s wrong, Belle? Why are you crying?”

Belle snuggled deeper into her sheets in response. “It’s nothing, professor.”

“I’m sure it isn’t nothing.”

“Then it’s too stupid to discuss, at any rate.”

He nudged her through the sheets. “Well, in that case, your horse came in third. Beat Mr. Wayne-Booth’s by a solid yard.”

Gold’s heart swelled – he’d almost made her laugh. “It isn’t quite that stupid.”

“Then what is it, dear?”

She took a deep breath and turned her eyes up to his. He didn’t know if it was her tears, the candlelight, or some power she naturally possessed, but they absolutely sparked in the darkness. “I always read this certain book when I’m upset. I’ve always done it, there’s no other way to calm me down.” She sighed again. “The problem is that it wasn’t sent with the rest of my trunk, nor is it in your library.”

Gold smiled as comfortingly as he could. “What is it, anyway?”

An almost dreamy smile overtook her face. “Les Miserables,” she murmured, each syllable a caress like the name of a longed-for lover. He started naming African dialects in his head to keep from tenting his trousers – nighttime or not, certain things couldn’t be missed when they were right in your face. But then, thinking about it being in her face made things even harder, figuratively and literally.

“That’s an awfully depressing book,” he finally interjected, glad that his voice relayed nothing of his present dilemma, “especially when you’re already said to begin with.”

Belle took his hand in hers, patting it lightly across his fingers. The contrast of their skin – hers so pale and beautiful, his so gnarled and tan – had him biting back a moan and hoping she wouldn’t notice. 

“But that’s why it makes me happier,” she insisted fervently. “All I have to do is read about poor Fantine, really think about everything she sacrificed for her daughter, and, suddenly, none of my problems seem so bad anymore. There’s always someone out there who has it worse. Which is why that book’s so wonderful – it reminds me to stop being selfish.”

He didn’t know what to say to that. Honestly, he had no words, an odd situation by anyone’s standard. How could this pretty thing, so young and sweet and fragile, be so brave and brilliant and intelligent, too? How could she leave him speechless without a thought and continue merrily on her way?

Gold shook his head to clear out the stardust she’d left in it. Moving on habit now, he yanked his palm from hers and rose to his feet, balancing precariously on his cane. 

“Well, it’s getting rather late, dearie,” he muttered gruffly, relieved that his amazement didn’t show. “I’d best be getting to bed myself. Sorry about your book.”

His hand had just closed over the doorknob when he heard her squirming in the background. Images of her mouth held tentatively open, fighting for the nerve to speak, sprang unbidden in his mind.

“Professor Gold?”

“Hmm?”

She smiled dazzlingly at him, a small little thing that lasted barely a second but shone true all the same. “Thank you for taking me to the races. It means a lot to me. That you thought I was ready, I mean. I never could’ve done this without you.”

She shouldn’t have said that. She really shouldn’t have. Saying such things put thoughts in his mind, forced him to make decisions he had no intention of making before. But it was too late – the thought was there, and now he was determined.

He nodded quickly in reply to her words and tapped his way down the hall. He couldn’t believe he was doing this. He’d never done anything like this for anyone before, not even himself. It was just his luck that Belle couldn’t be dealt with like any other woman – no, for her, he’d apparently settled on giving her all or nothing. 

But he had one other woman to deal with, lest she sell him down the river for not talking to her first.

He poked his head into the laundry on his way downstairs, glad to see that his housekeeper was alone. She immediately set down her washing and scrutinized him for any trace of trouble.

“Something wrong, professor?” she asked uncertainly.

“No, no,” he muttered. “I’m only going for a walk. I just wanted you to know.”

If anything, that made her more distrustful. “Well… thank you, sir. I’ll keep the door unlocked for you.”

Gold returned with a wave that was only somewhat sarcastic, and marched himself out the front door. He’d barely made it a block before he realized he could’ve called for a cab. He was so caught up with cheering his pupil that he’d foregone all sense and decorum. He cursed loudly into the night air, but ultimately decided to keep going. His joints would kill him for it in the morning, but he wasn’t about to embarrass himself by turning around.

No, he thought wryly, he was just going to embarrass himself by sneaking into Belle’s old apartment to retrieve a ratty book.

Good God, what was he thinking?

———————————————————————————————————————-

The walk to Lisson Grove was much shorter than he’d anticipated, especially considering his cane and bum leg. Traffic was sparse to none, most of Westminster’s high society still in Ascot or just now on their way back. Even better, all the beggars and thieves he’d be likely to run into at any other time were milling anxiously outside the gentlemen’s club, obviously waiting for some sort of scrap to be tossed their way. Resentment at their behavior bubbled high in his chest. His Belle held her head high even when this had been her job, yet these mongrels dug in the grime for whatever filth they could get. No ambition, no sense of self-respect, and certainly no morality. 

A thickset, wizened woman hobbled down the road ahead, and Gold tapped quicker against the cobblestones to catch up. He made it a priority to be able to accurately read people within a few seconds, and this old biddy definitely fit the bill of nonthreatening. 

“Ma’am,” he called, doing his best attempt at a job. “Would you happen to know where Belle French’s old flat is?”

The crone whipped around, missing teeth and all. “Who?” she wheezed, looking him up and down with bemusement. 

Gold grimaced. “Izzy French’s old flat, I mean.”

Her face immediately broke into a broad smile. “Oh, you shoulda said!” the woman chortled. “Just down that alleyway there. Mind yer feet, though – ol’ Seamus crawled down there half-past, an’ Lord knows what sort o’ mess he made.”

Professor Gold nodded and made his way for the little side street, but not before the woman could catch him by the elbow.

“You wouldn’t ‘appen to know where the little dear went, do ya?” she asked in low tones. “People been supposin’ that she was turned into a upper-class escort. Shameful business, I say.”

He ripped his arm away and glared hot enough to melt steel. “If I were you, ma’am, I’d abstain from talking about things I don’t know about. Are we clear?”

“Cr-crystal, govna,” she stammered. 

Gold gave her a curt nod and spun away on his heel, not bothering to question why he was so violent about Belle’s honor. Instead, he focused on avoiding the suspicious brown stains along the alleyway. The darkened door at the end of the hall hung precariously from its hinges, as if someone had tried to break in and forgotten to return it to its proper place. It stank of Moe French’s handiwork.

He picked himself inside, tapping against the hollowed steps to keep from falling and gripping the rusty handle to hold his balance. Much to his surprise, he saw the book almost as soon as his eyesight had adjusted. He’d expected to be up half the night sorting through garbage and decay. Instead, he found the thick, dog-eared thing set atop a settee cushion on the floor. 

Not wanting to stay any longer than he had to, he reached for it and dusted off the cover, checking that it was what Belle was looking for. He shoved the heavy tome inside his coat, and would’ve headed for the door if not for the thud at his feet.

A tiny, leather-bound book rested on his shoe, apparently having fallen out of the larger Hugo work. Gold wrinkled his brow, curious as to what the strange little thing could be, and opened to a random page.

“I had to sell my best friend today. Not you, of course, my other best friend – Wuthering Heights. Unlikeable as all the characters are, I still love the story fondly. But there wasn’t any other way. Not if I want to keep Mulan out of the brothels. She seems intent, though – men will pay good money for a Chinese doll, she says. I wouldn’t know – I’m an Australian rag.

Gold snapped the thing shut, feeling dirty and entirely in the wrong. It was a journal, a diary. And not just anyone’s, either – it was Belle’s.

It was disgraceful to be reading this, he thought, even as he tucked the thing back into Les Miserables. These were Belle’s private thoughts, thoughts that he had no right to know anything about. 

He reckoned he should just turn around and put it back where it came from. Just march back down the alley and put it in her kitchen. But that thought didn’t occur to him until after he was at least three roads away from her flat.

By the end of the next block, he’d started thinking that he’d performed a personal service. It would be wrong to just leave it there where any undeserving soul could pick it up. He was doing Belle a favor by taking it with him. 

He stopped trying to convince himself at the corner of Wimpole Street. Who was he kidding? The only reason he was taking the thing with him was because he wanted to know his student’s private thoughts. He should’ve left the blasted thing alone.

Resigned to his crime, he reopened the leather booklet and found his place.

“I’m pretty enough, I know. I don’t mean to be foolish or naive about that - I’ve seen the way their eyes at the gentlemen’s club rove all over me. It’s just that I’m incompetent in every way that matters for such a job. I’m not like Mulan - I’m not strong enough to suck it up and learn to do it anyway. I’d cry and ruin everything. But selling flowers will only get us so far. Eventually, I’ll have to learn how to lay back and spread my legs. I only hope I’ll learn before Rose gets it in her head to do so herself. The last thing I want is for her to be tainted like the rest of us. Maybe I’ll ask Ashley if she can set me up with one of her Johns for practice. God knows I could use it. Blessings.”

Gold stood almost perfectly still in shock. Belle had resigned herself to being a prostitute. His naively innocent beauty had thought of joining the worst career imaginable just to save her sister and best friend further torment. People weren’t this selfless. People never did things like this for one another.

The slamming of a cab door distracted him from his musings. Not wanting anyone else to see such precious thoughts, he stuffed the diary into his jacket pocket and withdrew Les Miserables instead. 

Red curly hair atop a beanpole body floated into sight, circling nervously around the only cab on the street. He didn’t look threatening, but Gold still didn’t appreciate the interruption.

“Who are you?” he inquired suspiciously.

The man jumped a solid foot in the air, both his hat and spectacles shaking off in the process.

“I-I-I-I-I’m Archie Hopper,” he stammered, bending down in an awkward half bow. Gold smirked at the jumpy little man – he was respectful, but he was subtly smart, too, for using that greeting as an excuse to pick his things up. 

“Well, Mr. Hopper, why are you milling about outside my home?”

“Mr. Wayne-Booth told me he had a meeting with you,” the man mumbled, disappointment swelling slowly in his eyes as he realized the lie. “He had me drive here as soon as the races were over.”

The words were like fire in his ears. “I see. Well, thank you for your honesty, my good man.” He flipped the crickety thing five shillings – more money than he’d see in a week, quite likely. The man tried to stutter out his gratitude, but Gold passed him by without a thought. Now, his eyes were trained on the shadowy mass he’d missed before, skipping merrily up and down his stoop as if he had a right to be there.

Gold whacked the young man in the knees with his cane. He was careful with the amount of pressure he used – he wanted it to be gentle enough to make his point without violence, but hard enough to serve as a warning for what would happen if he was upset. 

“Ah, Mr. Wayne-Booth. Isn’t it a bit past your bedtime, boy?”

August didn’t seem to register the insult. “Gold, you old devil! You nearly gave me a fright.”

“Indeed,” he responded, voice clipped. “What do you want?”

“No preamble, I respect that,” August smirked. “Well, quite simply, I’ve been working up the nerve to ring for Miss French. This is where she lives, correct?”

Professor Gold shoved him out of the way with his free hand, wickedly delighted when the younger man slipped down the last step. Foolish young thing with his ridiculous stubble and perfectly pressed suit. “Yes, she does.”

This boy truly didn’t seem capable of taking a hint. “Wonderful!” he said, clapping his hands gleefully together. “When can I see her?”

“Not tonight, I’m afraid,” Gold growled. “She’s rather indisposed. Said she doesn’t want to see anyone for a whole month.”

August winked at the staircase inside, accompanied by a lascivious grin. “I can wait.”

He might be able to, but Gold didn’t have such patience. Before the boy could say anything stupider, he popped him in the mouth with his handle and slammed the door in his face. 

Gold grabbed the bottle of amber liquid waiting patiently behind the door for him and took a deep swig. Much as he enjoyed watching that foolish boy flail, even he had to admit he’d been needlessly violent.

He started up the stairs, glass hanging from one hand, cane and book swinging at the other. He’d been in a perfectly good mood since the races, not counting the run-in with the crone on Belle’s street. Even that, though, was hardly enough to warrant such anger from him, especially when directed at someone else. 

He took another cautious slurp. To be honest, his actions reminded him of nothing so much as the behavior of a jealous man. 

Gold snorted at the very idea. “Jealous? Me, jealous?” he laughed. ”I’ve never heard anything so preposterous. What do I even have to be jealous for?”

He took a long sip out of his decanter, a dry smirk lighting up his cheeks the whole time. Then the image of Belle’s gorgeous blue eyes and her lithe form in the bed upstairs swept into his thoughts, and he promptly spit it back out, eyes round as saucers.

“Good Christ, I’m jealous.”

He pressed his palms against his forehead, rubbing against the skin there and praying it would knock the envy out. Or, better yet, wake him up so he could laugh this whole thing off as some strange dream. Neither happened.

“I’m too old for this,” he groaned, swilling the amber liquid in front of him. “Too old for her. I’ve got a few years on her father, I’d wager.” 

His eyes widened comically as he tossed back another shot of whiskey. “For God’s sake, I’m a bachelor! A confirmed, bastardly, old, old bachelor!” 

Gold leaned against the railing. “And now I’m talking to myself. Not even in proper English, either. Lovely. Bloody wonderful.”

He considered taking another sip, but, cussing under his breath, placed the bottle outside the door instead. He rapped his knuckled on the frame. 

“Belle?”

No one answered. Brows wrinkled in confusion, he tried again. “Belle?”

Again, she didn’t respond. Worried, he eased the door open with his foot and peeked inside. The creases near his eyes relaxed – she was only sleeping. 

Careful not to make a sound, he crept into her room and laid the book on her bedside table. The slight movement had her rolling in her sleep, but thankfully not enough to wake up. Her hair fanned out beside her as she moved, circling her head like an angel’s halo. Gold’s fingers twitched, as did his eyes. No one was at the door, no one was there to catch him. 

Guilty as sin, he gave in to his errant desire and ran his fingers through her hair. It was soft and rich as her silk sheets, so lovely against his skin. He sighed – tonight would either be very short or very long with that feeling thick in his mind.

Gold spun from her side, double-checking that she’d see her book as soon as she awoke. But that left him with no further reason to say, and, glumly, he dragged his feet to the door.

“Richard.”

The cane slipped from his grip, thumping dully against her carpet. Richard. She’d called him Richard. 

“Yes, Belle?” he rasped. 

She didn’t answer except to make a low, joyful noise deep in her throat. He waited for her to add something – ask him into her bed, for example – but he was sorely disappointed. Belle lay still as a log, eyes closed, hands fisted under her pillow, cute little smile curling up her lips. 

And then it hit him: she wasn’t talking to him – she was dreaming of him. 

Gold didn’t even pause to think about it – he tipped the bottle over and drained the rest of it in one go.

He didn’t risk staying any longer. As quickly as he could with his cane, Gold rushed from the room, nearly slamming it behind him in his haste to get out. The stairs seemed to stretch endlessly before him, but he dragged himself up nonetheless, not daring to spare a glance behind him.

I shouldn’t be getting this worked up, he chastised himself. I’m a grown man, not a silly schoolboy. Just because I love her –

He almost fell down the stairs, hands shaking off the banister and good leg hanging off the next step.

Love? Where had that come from?

He rapidly shook his head. No, it was just lust. She’s a bright young thing with a pretty face to match, no one could fault him for that.

He banged he head against the handrail. What had he done?

Nothing he did could undo this revelation – he was in love. In love with the wisest, kindest, most beautiful woman on God’s green Earth.

It could only end with her leaving. Whether they succeeded in the project or not, she’d leave him all alone once again, as if she could slip so easily into and out of his life. 

Molly was right to worry. His Belle was going to break his heart. 

“You’ve really done it this time,” he muttered to himself, hobbling the rest of the way to his room. “You stupid, stupid bastard.”


	11. Chapter 11, part one:  You Did It

Accustomed to Her Face (11/15)  
Title: Chapter 11, part one: You Did It

Rating: PG (this will be remedied in 2 chapters time…)

Author’s Note: 4 chapters left, guys! 4 chapters! I’ve almost finished my very first series on tumblr!!!!

Thanks so much to everyone who’s helped, especially my ANG who is always there to offer advice on my classical AUs, dreams-love-magic who’s my daily inspiration, undergreatwhite who’s the best tumblr husband a girl could ask for, and bookfaced for being the most supportive person I ever could’ve hoped for. And thank all of you who’ve read this far and will hopefully continue to read to the end - couldn’t have done it without you, guys :D

(Oh, and no, you didn’t read that wrong - Chapter 11 has two parts. I told you it was a beast :S)

 

Much to Belle’s surprise, nothing much changed after the incident at the races. They still woke her up at six every morning for her lessons, they still drilled her to the bone until dark, and they both bickered like an old married couple regarding how well she was progressing. The only difference now was that Jefferson insisted she work harder while the professor suggested that she take a break.

Personally, she agreed with the colonel – they had less than a month left at this point and, though her accent may be fine, her grammar and etiquette could still be improved upon. Whether Gold could admit it to himself or not, good language skills wouldn’t be enough to convince the queen of her breeding. All of their careers – hers, the colonel’s, and Professor Gold’s –depended on how well she could act like a lady. In her case, so did her life. But even with those points to back them, Gold insisted that she was working too hard and what she really needed was a break. 

That wasn’t the only way in which his behavior towards her had altered, either. Indeed, he had begun to act just as flighty as he tended to accuse Ruby of being. At meals, he would either sit right next to her, arms almost touching, or retreat to the far side of the room where she could barely see him. During lessons, he either heaped undeserved praise on her or chastised her for miniscule mistakes. And, even more strangely, in moments when he thought she wouldn’t notice, he stared at her as intently as a predator eyeing its prey, eyes always passing through the emotions of fear, interest, and pain. 

It had been almost a month since he’d started this, but neither she nor Jefferson could make heads or tails of it.

At first, Belle feared that he was ashamed of her for her outburst at the Ascot. But that theory was dismissed almost as soon as it popped up. If he were angry about that, she would know without a doubt – his criticisms were far from subtle, after all. For that very same reason – not to mention all of his arguments with Jefferson – she also dismissed the idea that he was nervous about the ball. He was too lively to be sick, too sober (much to her and Abigail’s surprise) to be drunk, and meticulous to be insane. Nonetheless, something about the look in his eyes – if not his strange behavior – seemed eerily familiar to her.

It was only the night before the Embassy Ball would take place that she realized what it was – Professor Gold was in love. 

The thought gnawed at her as she lay in bed, disturbing her more than even her nerves about the ball tomorrow night. Who could he possibly be in love with? The only women in the house were Abigail and Ruby, and since the former was married and the latter got on his every last nerve, she hardly suspected that he was interested in either of them. It could always be Madame Ficient, she supposed, but they were more like hateful friends (if that was even a term) than paramours for each other. She briefly entertained the idea that he was hung up on Jefferson, but she brushed that idea off with a snort. She’d known many men in her neighborhood whose interests swung in that direction, some for the better and some for the worse. But Gold didn’t act like any of them. 

That left only one viable option. One other person he might possibly have feelings for. 

Belle huffed at herself and rubbed at her weary eyes. It was late, and she couldn’t sleep – that was the only reason she was allowing herself to entertain such a notion. Professor Gold was a rich, distinguished man with a family (or at least a son) that he desperately wanted back. He was a kind man, whether he realized it or not, but he wasn’t kind enough to put up with her romantic daydreams, least of all when they were so close to success. 

She rolled out of bed and stuffed her arms into her dressing gown, lighting a small candle on her way out the door so that she wouldn’t knock into anything on her way down. Maybe she could get rid of her silly fantasies by reading about someone else’s.

Belle rounded the hall and entered the library through its top balcony, not wanting to wake anyone up by tripping down the stairs. But a sliver of light crept out from under the doorframe, so perhaps she needn’t have worried about that at all. Curious, she dimmed her own candle and edged her way inside.

A single lamp, swinging from the downstairs ceiling, left a filtered glow upon everything in the room. And right beside it, facing the window with a book in one hand and a lit pipe in the other, sat her dear professor. 

Of course, Belle groaned to herself. The only other person to be up at this hour would be him.

“Are you going to lurk up there all night, dearie, or would you like to come down and take something to read?” he asked gruffly. His own book lay open, but she could see that his eyes were intent on the rain outside. “Why are you even up this late?” 

Belle attempted not to fall on her way down the staircase, holding tight to the banister to keep her balance. The memory of being caught in Professor Gold’s arms the last time she fell in the library sent a shiver up her spine. “I can’t sleep,” she answered. “Too nervous. And I didn’t actually think anyone else would be up at this hour, either.”

He didn’t say anything, eyes still focused on the rain outside. When she sat down beside him, though, he was quick to push his teacup – not her broken one, she mused sadly – towards her. 

“This will help you sleep.”

Belle eyed the drink curiously. It was warm, and smelt faintly of flowers. “What is it?”

“It’s chamomile tea,” he answered exasperatedly. “Nothing alcoholic.”

“Oh, I know,” she smiled, gratefully taking the cup from him. She tried not to linger on the way his fingers shivered when she brushed them. “You haven’t had a drop of it for the past month.”

He made a quiet huff of assent, but didn’t make any other comment. As far as she could tell, he was drowning in his own mind. And she might’ve only known him for a few months, but she still knew that his head could be a terrible place to dwell.

“What are you thinking about, professor?”

He blinked, the first she’d seen him move his face thus far. Even more surprisingly, he actually turned to face her. Something shimmered in his gaze at the sight of her flimsy dressing gown, and, though Belle didn’t fear it (even knowing as well as she did what the look meant), she drew her arms tighter about her chest. For a moment, he looked pitifully apologetic, and then he looked away once more. 

“I… my son,” he mumbled. “I was thinking about my son.”

Belle tried not to grimace. Not because of him, of course, but because the voicing of his concerns only confirmed what she’d chastised herself for earlier. Instead, she reached across the table and patted him on the arm, rubbing at the tense muscle there until he shook from head to toe. She knew it was probably just relief, but she hoped that maybe her touch affected him just as violently as his touch affected her.

“You ought to be very happy, then,” she finally grinned at him, brushing the idle, selfish thought away.

The affection in his eyes gave way to confusion. “And why is that, dearie?”

Belle stroked his muscle once more before pulling back, unwilling to give in any more to her desires lest they completely take her over. “Well, after tomorrow night, you’ll finally be able to find him. You know, assuming that I do well.”

Gold looked vaguely shocked at that announcement. “I suppose that’s true.” 

He poured another cup of tea for himself (and this time he did use the chipped one) and nodded expectantly at her until she took a sip. It was the most soothing thing she’d ever tasted, warm and light and almost like honey. She grinned at the professor in thanks until he tremulously smiled back.

“And you needn’t worry about your performance, dearie,” he continued, trying to sound nonchalant, she was sure, but sounding severely guarded. “Just listen to you speak. Why, I might take you for a proper Oxford lady if I didn’t know the truth.”

Belle smirked at his praise, but a new fear had already begun to wash it away. The professor’s plans after tomorrow night were entirely set and detailed, as were the colonel’s since she assumed he’d be going with him. But her? What would she do?

“Is something wrong, dearie?” Professor Gold interrupted. Her pulse quickened at the realization that he’d been watching her.

She briefly considered lying again, but that would be a disservice to them both. Her first fib was a matter of good manners; this would just be needlessly petty.

“Sort of. It’s just… well, we never really talked about what would happen to me.”

He cocked his head to the side, concerned. ”Happen to you when?”

“After tomorrow night. You and Jefferson will be headed for the States, but what shall I do? I can hardly go back to Lisson Grove now.”

Gold turned pale as a ghost; apparently it hadn’t just been her who’d made this oversight. 

“It’s alright,” she added hastily, though she wasn’t quite sure how truthful that statement was, either. ”I just realized that I don’t know what my options are. I suppose I could always open a florist’s shop like dad had back in Brisbane, but I don’t know that I want to work with flowers for the rest of my life. What do you think, professor?”

He deliberated over his tea for a long moment, but at least he didn’t turn away from her. That in and of itself was an accomplishment for this sort of conversation. Eventually, he picked his pipe back up and, after a drag on it, muttered,

“You… you might marry, you know.”

Belle forced her heart to keep beating normally – he was merely stating a fact, not propositioning her. 

“I don’t think marriage is for me, professor,” she smiled wanly. “Can you honestly see me as someone’s little wife?”

He stared at her far too in-depth, eyes flickering nervously and fingers twitching on his cane. “Well, you aren’t… you’re not unattractive, dearie,” he finally mumbled into his pipe. Belle bit her lip to rein in an inappropriate giggle – she didn’t know Professor Gold could blush such a brilliant shade of red. “In fact, you’re… you’re what I would call ‘beautiful’.”

Her urge to laugh immediately died off, quickly enough that she almost choked on her breath. “I… you think I’m beautiful?”

The professor gulped, but at least he didn’t retreat – his eyes were just as focused on her as before. “Indeed,” he muttered. “Men would line up to ask for your hand.” 

She blinked in surprise, but he didn’t waver. The pools below his brow, more chocolate than their usual whiskey-amber, swam with something intense and deep that she couldn’t begin to understand. She moved closer, intent on drinking those dark orbs in.

“I think one already has.”

She wanted to brace herself on his end of the table, lean forward until he got the hint and took his own initiative. As per her usual clumsiness, though, she slipped off the polished wood instead and ended gripping his thigh. He choked into his pipe, forcing smoke and dry ash onto both of them. Belle immediately rushed to dust him off, but he waved her back down with an embarrassed nod of his head.

“I’m sorry, dearie, I think I missed that,” he muttered. “Might you repeat yourself?”

She thought about calling him out, making him admit how he felt whether it was love or something else. But he was set on mourning the loss of his son tonight, and heaping another problem on top of that would be nothing but cruelty to the poor man. 

“I was talking about Mr. Wayne-Booth,” she answered quietly, taking up a cloth from the corner to clean up the smoke with. She refused to meet his eyes lest he catch her in her lie.

“Ah. Yes, of course.” 

She didn’t turn to look at him, but it was a near miss. He almost sounded sad. But that was just her imagination, had to be. Belle took mercy on them both and continued with her topic of distraction.

“Thank you, by the way.”

She could almost feel eyebrows furrow in confusion. “For what?”

Belle stopped dusting so she could look at his face full-on. “For protecting me.”

Gold took a puff on his relit pipe and immediately broke eye contact with her. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean.”

If it weren’t for the twitch of his lips, Belle wouldn’t have known he was lying to her. She still would’ve known what he’d done on her behalf, though. 

After the fiasco at the races, Belle had only left Wimpole Street once, and only because Jefferson begged her to accompany him to the chocolaterie. No one had to ask why, either – it was a well-known fact the block round that Mr. Wayne-Booth had taken up residence on the professor’s stoop. He didn’t just stop there, either – he snuck love letters into the mail slot, sang romantic ballads off-key outside her window, and sent her deliveries of flowers at all hours of the day. Belle might’ve been more concerned if not for the series of bruises that had mysteriously begun to materialize on August’s jaw. If she looked close enough, she could even see the indent of a raven in the middle of each bruise, the exact same raven as the one at the head of Professor Gold’s cane.

“Well, fine as this has been,” the professor said, groaning as he lifted himself from his chair, “I believe I ought to get to bed. I’m too old to be staying up this late.”

“You aren’t old,” she finished without thinking - it had grown to be her instinctive response whenever he complained about his age. 

He chuckled gruffly before turning away and climbing up the stairs. Belle was sure that he slammed his cane into the steps more than was necessary just to draw her attention to it. 

“Well, I suppose we’ll just have to agree to disagree. Feel free to stay up as long as you want, dea – Belle.” 

She wanted to race after him, to ask why he insisted on using her name in this moment, but she didn’t want to spook him again. Instead, she took another sip of her tea and stared longingly at his retreating figure.

“I am grateful, you know,” she called out. “That you believe in me, I mean. No one’s ever believed in me before.”

He halted on the top step, hand clenching tight over his cane. She thought he might turn around, might say something to her that would shatter the earth and send magic and lightning from the sky. But, in the end, he only shrugged and continued on his way.

“We’ll talk about your options tomorrow night after the ball.” 

The door clicked shut behind him, leaving the room in utter silence once again. Belle waited a full two seconds before downing the rest of her tea and covering her shaking eyes with her hands. She’d lost the battle with her nerves as soon as she’d sat down beside him. There were only two options left for her future, whether she liked it or not. Either Gold would fall in love with her and allow her to stay, or he’d send her to the streets with no plan of action (or at least no plan of action that he had told her about). 

And she had little more than twenty-four hours to figure out which option that future would take.

———————————————————————————————————————-

Professor Gold made his way down the stairs, straightening his lapels as he went. He shouldn’t have sprung for a new tux – his old ones weren’t half as starched and they’d match perfectly with the other unfashionable old men at the ball – but he couldn’t wash away his random compulsion to do so. 

Well, perhaps not “random”. Perhaps it was a carefully calculated form of envy borne from the fear that a younger, better dressed gentleman might sweep Belle off her feet. 

He spared a glance at the hallway mirror and wrinkled his nose – perhaps he was out of his damn mind. Belle wouldn’t look at him twice, especially not when she was dressed like a princess in the presence of a queen. 

Despite his annoyance with himself, he couldn’t help but smile at the thought of Belle’s ball gown. He hadn’t seen her in it yet, but he knew it would be perfect for her. It was a beautiful piece, brilliant purple like the orchids and violets she once sold but swathed in gold film that made caught the light when it moved. She’d be a vision when she danced. She’d be a vision anyway. He hadn’t even intended to buy it for her, but it had caught his eye when Jefferson picked out her Ascot gown. Long before he realized he was in love with her, he remembered wryly. 

He shook the thought from his head and moved to Belle’s door at the end of the hall. They had to leave within the next half hour, and he would only make himself sick or needlessly agitated if he spent that whole time attempting to analyze his emotions. 

He raised his cane and rapped twice on her door.

“Belle, are you ready?”

A muffled squeak was all he received in terms of an answer. Concerned, he knocked again. “Belle?”

The door clicked open so quickly that it almost smashed his nose. He barely had time to step back before Mrs. Nolan collided with him, shutting the door behind her before he could see anything.

“Give us a few more minutes, professor,” she whispered. “Poor thing’s got a case of anxiety.”

Gold’s eyebrows furrowed. “Does she need me to – ?”

“You’ve done enough for her already, professor,” Mrs. Nolan interrupted. “The best thing for you to do is wait at the door with the colonel. Ruby and I will have her right as rain in no time, don’t you worry.”

Before he could argue any further, Mrs. Nolan had magically disappeared into Belle’s room. Gold growled and reached for the doorknob, but he was thwarted by the solid snap of the bolt into the lock.

Professor Gold shook his head in bewilderment. Why was she so adamant not to see him yet? Only last night, she’d leant towards him as if she wanted a kiss and pressed her palm into his thigh. The latter was an accident, of course, but still. He couldn’t have done anything that wrong since then, could he? 

The box in his breast pocket, which he’d tucked in immediately after their conversation last night, seemed to burn a hole in his chest.

Jefferson was waiting for him at the foot of the stairs, decked to the nines in a pair of silk garters and short trousers that showed off more of the man’s legs than Gold would ever have been comfortable with himself. He might not have recognized the colonel if not for the presence of the thick and gaudy cravat around his neck and the gigantic top hat on his head.

“You’re looking rather dapper, professor,” Jefferson commented. Gold would’ve thought he was being cheeky, but the colonel wasn’t even looking at him. Instead, his eyes were swimming in the tall glass of port he’d just filled up, Adam’s apple bobbing as he drank it down sip by sip. 

“And you’re looking rather ridiculous,” he retorted. “But that’s nothing new.”

Jefferson glared at Gold’s reflection in the hallway mirror before pouring himself another glass. 

“How are you not nervous, Gold? This is it, the big night, everything we’ve been working for.” The colonel gave him a condescending glare, then, after glancing at his half-full tumbler, downed the thing in one go. “And there you stand, right as rain, proud as a popinjay.”

“I think you’ve had quite enough,” Gold drawled, taking away the good wine before his friend drank it all. “You’re alliteration is beginning to show.”

“No lectures on letters tonight, please,” Jefferson begged. “That’s the very last thing I need at present.” 

Gold snarled at his friend and whacked him on the shoulder with his cane. The colonel barely seemed to notice. 

Gold cocked his head to the side, watching in bemusement as Jefferson half-paced, half-skipped along the length of the hallway. The poor man looked every bit as mad as Doctor Whale’s associates had claimed he was in their early days of correspondence. For a moment, he wondered if his revelation about Belle had blinded him to the seriousness of the task. But he just as quickly stamped the thought out. If he – her own teacher – couldn’t believe in her, then who could? No, he was entirely in the right on this one. Belle would be marvelous, he knew it. She’d put Regina and her mother in their place and sweep the whole court off their feet. Jefferson could drink and pace away all he wanted; Gold would stay sober so he could appreciate his Belle’s success. After all, this might be the last chance he ever had to see it.   
The port decanter nearly fell from his grip. Last chance… It hit him like a bullet to his heart.

Tonight would be the last night they ever spent in each other’s company. After tonight, he’d be obligated by the terms of their deal to send her on her way. Even worse, his last memory of her would be that of a pretend princess, dancing with whomever she wished, victorious in every movement. The only thing crueler would be if she literally ripped his heart from his chest. 

How had he not realized this earlier? He and Belle had only just discussed it the night before. The very discussion that had led him to put the box in his suit pocket to begin with. Why had it not occurred to him then? But he already had the answer to that. Knowing something and understanding it were two completely different ideas – his teachings were proof enough of that.

“Look at you,” Jefferson piped up, interrupting Gold’s thoughts with his laughing voice. “You look absolutely gorgeous.”

Apparently, the alcohol had finally kicked in. Gold opened his mouth to retaliate, ready to knock the man over the head this time instead of just tapping him on the shoulder, but the sight of a white glove in his peripheral stopped him.

“Thank you, Jefferson,” Belle smiled (and Gold didn’t have to turn around to know she was smiling, he could hear it in her voice. He’d miss that smile.) “What do you think, professor?”

Gold spun around, readying himself to flatter her with adulation he could think of. Maybe he could impress her enough that she’d swat his arm or – even better – lace her fingers through with his and smile at him. The fantasy died on his lips, though, when he caught sight of her – the reality was better than anything he could ever have dreamed up. 

Belle swept down the remaining stairs, her gold and purple dress shimmering along behind her. They’d left a good part of her hair down, he was pleased to see, and the thin tendrils of brown swept over her nearly bare shoulders like a river. The rest curled daintily behind her head, tucked into place with a tiny purplish rose the like of which he’d never seen. He couldn’t believe that she’d had anything to be nervous about. He believed even less that this was the same little flower girl who’d come to beg him for a job. 

She smiled widely when she reached the bottom step, obviously proud of herself for not tripping in her new heels. Jefferson took her hand so he could place a kiss on her wrist, but, much to the fury of Gold’s beating heart, she never once looked at the younger man. Her eyes were only for her teacher. 

“I’ll take your surprise as a compliment, professor,” she said almost cheekily. Only the hints of blush staining the corners of her face gave her nervousness away.

His brain seemed to have been waiting for that remark to switch itself back on. Gold nodded sharply at the colonel, who looked confused for a moment before jumping to remove his hat. He shook his head – of course Jefferson would keep her tiara safe in his damned hat.

“It was meant as one,” he replied, trying to cough away the roughness in his voice. “You look lovely, Belle.”

She smiled radiantly at him as he took the tiny crown from Jefferson. She only broke eye contact with him to bend her head, allowing him to put the tiara on her himself. His palms sweated, knuckles shivered, when the tips of his fingers grazed her silky soft hair. She noticed all of his little errors, had to, but never said a word. She only gazed at him with adoration. It was more the look of a young girl hoping her father was proud of her than a lover looking for lust in her partner’s gaze. He felt sick.

Mr. Dove slunk in the front door, his bald pate scraping the top of the doorframe. “The carriages are here, sir.”

Belle jumped and immediately separated herself from him, straightening her tiara as she went so it wouldn’t tangle in her hair. His whole body froze – of course she wouldn’t want him to touch her like that. So tender, so careful. It was too much like love. Too close to how he actually felt. 

Gold cleared his throat and turned to his manservant. “Thank you, Mr. Dove. Jefferson, might you go ahead and escort Belle out?”

Jefferson’s eyes narrowed in confusion. “Are you not coming?”

Professor Gold glared, glad that his go-to defense was still working, at least. “No, dearie, I thought I might stay at home this evening and knit.”

Both the colonel and Belle rolled their eyes at him, though he noticed that she looked worried for him underneath it. She shouldn’t indulge his imagination that way. 

“Well, what are you doing, then?”

“I left something upstairs,” he answered shortly. “Just wait on me outside, will you?”

Jefferson was still curious, he could tell that from a mile away, but, thankfully, he took Belle’s hand and skipped with her out the door. Gold waited until the door had snapped shut behind them, though, before allowing his shoulders and his calmly irate façade to drop.

He leaned heavily over the end table, hands shaking even as they gripped the counter for all he was worth. The familiar sting of salt rose up behind his eyes, but he refused to let himself cry. Not tonight.

He sought out his reflection in the mirror with a grimace. Gnarled, broken, old. Nothing that his Belle could ever want. 

He fished out the little box he’d put in his breast pocket last night and slammed it hard onto the table. The hinges popped, spilling Millie’s old wedding ring onto the surface. It wasn’t perfect, wasn’t fit for Belle at all, but he thought it would be good enough for now. He just didn’t allow himself to think if he was good enough. 

“She doesn’t love you, you damned imbecile,” he sneered at his reflection. “She said she wanted a life after tonight, not… not this. What were you thinking?”

The mirror provided no comfort; if anything, it only reminded him of how foolish he’d been to fantasize about proposing to his lovely little student. At least he’d been able to cut the fantasy short before the night was up – he wouldn’t put himself through the misery of her mocking laughter.

Gold took a deep breath and finally turned from his own face, readjusting his suit and tie so they wouldn’t show signs of his distress. Satisfied as he’d ever be, he headed for the door, face sufficiently blank and hands sufficiently steady. As soon as he stepped onto the stoop, though, Belle smiled and waved at him, her lithe little gloved fingers bending towards him. His heart dropped into his stomach, but he made a good show of waving back to her as she boarded the carriage. What he wouldn’t do to kiss her hand, to slip a band over her finger and know it would be his to kiss forever. What he wouldn’t give to touch her hands with more than chaste kisses. 

Before either Belle or Jefferson could notice, he marched back to the table, stuffed the ring box back into his pocket, and downed the remaining port in one go.


	12. Chapter 11, part two:  Embassy Waltz

Accustomed to Her Face (11.5/15)  
Title: Chapter 11, part two: Embassy Waltz

Rating: PG (goes up to straight NC-17 next chapter, though *winks*)

Author’s Note: This is it! The whole, completed ball scene, topping a whopping pages of document paper. I dedicate this to Stragg - who I know has been salivating for this one ;) - and my ANG - who is sweet and full of love. Sorry for the obscenely long wait, guys!

Oh, and if you want to see the costumes for this scene again, here’s the link to all the pictures:

 

Belle tried to keep her propriety, to sit still and look demurely out the front of the carriage like Professor Gold and Jefferson. She wanted to make a good first impression on the surrounding elite and, more importantly, prove to the professor how far she’d come in her mere three-and-a-half months of lessons.

But, deep down, she was still the lowly florist’s daughter from Lisson Grove, and she’d never seen anything as grand or wondrous as the crowd for the Embassy Ball.

As soon as Mr. Dove stopped their carriage for passing traffic, Belle launched her upper body out the window, clutching her low cut, tight-fitted dress so as not to bare her bosoms to the public. Black and copper horses, carriages in a million different styles, fans and feathers and diamonds and mink coats abounded. She’d never seen such grandeur, not even on her best nights selling at the opera. Although, the small part of her that contained her vanity shimmered with delight that her gown was more regal and resplendent than any in the surge below.

“Belle!” the professor snapped

Belle cringed – she knew it would only be a matter of time before he got onto her. At least she’d had a few minutes to look around.

“Sorry,” she muttered, preparing herself for an argument.

Much to her surprise, though, he was smiling – albeit tentatively – when she turned around.

“You’re missing the best part,” he said, gesturing to the opposite window.

Belle stared at him, taking in his bright eyes and open face. Slowly, almost afraid that any quickness on her part would take it away, she let her worry melt into a grin of her own and moved to the other side.

The spectacle he’d meant for her to see was immediately apparent. A pure white carriage, large enough that Belle thought the entirety of her old apartment might have fit inside it, sat parked far away from the milling crowd. Four brilliant Lipizzaner stallions posed before it, one clopping at the grass underfoot but the rest just as still as statues. The dark bridles around each of their necks and flanks were bedecked with a circle of three bluebirds in flight. The same trio was painted on the carriage door, too. Belle gasped.

“What do you see?” the professor asked. Belle tensed – somehow, without her noticing it, he’d pressed himself to her back, so close to her ear that she could feel his every breath. Her whole body shook.

“It’s Queen Mary-Marghereta’s carriage,” she whispered, unable to speak any louder. She wondered vaguely at why her voice had become so hoarse when she felt the first drop of saltwater fall into her lips. 

The professor spun her around, the timid smile in his eyes transformed into full-out anxiety. “What’s wrong, Belle?” he asked ardently. 

Belle’s hands shook, and she watched as if from a distance when Professor Gold took them carefully into his own. He was so careful, so concerned, and all for her; another bead of saltwater dripped down her face. She’d been worried all day, almost to the point of making herself sick, that her heart had finally betrayed her. That, once the ball was over and their deal done, the professor would let her go and never again think of their time together. The ball itself was worrisome enough on its own, but her thoughts that he could never care for her the way that she had grown to care for him were even worse. 

So this – this tenderness, this affection – was more than she could take. Especially (and the glimmer in his eyes told her that she wasn’t just fooling herself) if it meant he felt something for her. 

“Nothing,” she smiled. “I’m just so happy.”

Professor Gold didn’t seem to believe her, rigid and worried as he obviously still was. One of his hands left hers, raising ever so slowly to her face. Her breath stuttered when he used his thumb to wipe away her tears, tracing them away from her lips and cheeks with the lightest touch. Belle couldn’t help but lean into him, small a gesture as it was, but, then, he was leaning in, too. She’d never noticed before how his irises shone for her. She wondered if it was because, before now, they hadn’t. 

“Professor…”

“Ahem!”

They leapt apart as if they’d been electrocuted, and only then did Belle realize how close their faces had been. She turned bright red with embarrassment and looked around, growing only redder when she realized where the noise had come from – Jefferson, arms crossed about his chest, was looking from one to the other as if they were the most entertaining form of amusement he’d ever seen. Belle bit her lip and looked down – she’d completely forgotten that the other man was there. 

“Well, are we going to exit?” he smirked. “The carriage has been stopped for five minutes now.”

Both of their eyes jumped to the other door of the carriage. It was wide open, and, just as Jefferson had suggested, the scenery outside wasn’t moving.

The professor scooted even farther away from her and cleared his throat. “Yes. Right,” he coughed. “On… on we go.”

If Belle hadn’t seen it for herself, she never would’ve believed that they’d made Professor Gold blush. Her head buzzed, a short laugh bubbling up in her throat, and it only became harder to contain when Jefferson tapped her with his foot and waggled his eyebrows in the professor’s direction.

“After you, my lady,” he grinned. 

Belle dropped her head to hide her smile from the professor as she passed him, readily accepting the gloved hand awaiting outside the door. She held up her long, sweeping skirt, hoping she wouldn’t ruin things by tripping on it on her way out, but, thankfully, the man put a hand courteously on her waist to keep her upright. 

“Thank you, Mr. Dove,” she smiled, looking up at the large, familiar face. Or she would have, had the driver turned out to actually be Mr. Dove – instead, she looked up and saw a red-haired, bespectacled man with shaking hands. 

“P-pardon me, but-but I’m not Mr. Dove,” the man apologized timidly. 

Belle probably should have been worried about that, but, instead, all she felt was a mild curiosity. The man was definitely familiar, though she didn’t know where she’d seen him before – she was one-hundred percent certain that he wasn’t one of Professor Gold’s servants, much less one of his drivers. That fact was only confirmed when the professor stepped out behind her, his cane clanking on the stones, and growled,

“What the bloody hell are you doing here?”

The man stammered and backed away as if afraid that Gold might hit him. “M-Mr. Wayne-Booth sent me so he’d know that Miss French arrived at the ball safely.”

Belle’s eyes lit up in recognition. Of course – he was the man who’d looked at her apologetically the night Mr. Wayne-Booth spilled all her flowers.

She spun around just in time to stop the professor from lifting his cane, no doubt to punish the man for intruding on their night. Her hand went immediately to his elbow, jerking back his arm as she muttered, “It’s quite alright, professor. No harm done.”

He stilled at once, moving only to spin on his heel so that he faced her once again. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jefferson shoo the driver away, but then she was focused on the professor all over again. She was beginning to worry that that might be the pattern of the night. But, then, he was staring at her, too, with an expression that, though she didn’t understand it, made her heart beat ever faster. The muscles of his forearm shivered under her hand, and she felt herself leaning in close yet again.

“There you are,” a familiar voice drawled. “Fashionably late as always, I see.”

Belle blinked herself away from Professor Gold for the second time in about as many minutes. Her lips quirked at the obvious annoyance on his face – he wasn’t enjoying the interruptions, either, it seemed.

“Ah, Molly,” he smiled curtly. “You look lovely as always, dearie.”

She snorted at him as she sauntered closer, and Belle couldn’t help but admire the striking figure she presented. Like the majority of the women in the crowd, her gown was a simple shade, something that Belle would’ve classified as tan though she was sure that wasn’t its proper name (they’d never actually gone over colors in her etiquette lessons, thankfully). Horizontal threads of black beads laced over the material, though, making it seem more metallic than plain like everyone else’s. It didn’t hurt that the cut was far less modest than the other women’s, either, with its loose straps, tight bodice, and flowing hem.

“Richard,” she greeted briefly, kissing the man on the cheek as if she’d rather be doing anything else. The professor wrinkled his nose at the filtered cigarette now shoved under his nostrils, and Belle couldn’t help but laugh.

“Miss Helga Sinclair. Commander Lyle Tiberius Rourke.”

“Oh God, not that windbag,” Molly groaned, pulling back and taking a draw on her long cigarette.

The professor cocked his head and smirked at her. “From what I remember of the man, he seemed to be just your type,” he drawled. “All bulk, no brain, lots of money.’

She glared at him and dropped the cigarette on his shoe. “Hardly, darling.”

He wrinkled his nose and shook the ashes off his foot, but Molly had already turned to Belle. 

“You look gorgeous,” she praised, pecking her on the cheek, too, before backing away. “Purple is most certainly your color.”

Belle smiled at her and curtsied. She didn’t miss the way that Professor Gold’s eyes sparked with pride at how good her posture was as she did so. Nor did she miss the fact that he was aiming more than just pride at her. 

“Professor Archibald Q. Porter. His daughter, Miss Jane Porter.”

“Well,” Molly sighed, “we’d best get in the queue. Richard?”

Professor Gold snapped his attention to Belle for just a second, his expression almost apologetic as he took Molly’s arm and led her up the stairs. He turned back to her only once after Molly finally managed to drag him away, but the bobbing of his throat and near awe in his eyes made the moment more than worth it as far as she was concerned.

“Are you scared, Belle?” he asked carefully. 

Belle turned to face him, her hand already moving to pet him comfortingly on his shoulder even as distracted as she was. 

“Not at all,” she reassured.

He beamed at her and doffed his ridiculous hat to bow at her. Belle almost laughed at him, but the noise caught in her throat when he dug into his hat and pulled out a single, tiny lilac bloom. “Then neither am I.”

Her eyes were still fixed on the perfect flower. “You didn’t have to, you know,” she whispered, dismally failing to hide her awe. 

“I know,” he smirked. “Which is why I didn’t – the professor did.”

Belle whipped around to look for Gold, only to find that he was staring directly back at her. Her throat clenched, her heart fluttered, all the more when he tremulously waved at her before stepping towards the valet with Molly. If she tried to be any happier, Belle thought her face might break.

“Dr. David Q. Dawson.”

“Jefferson,” she said, hardly hearing nor caring about the valet’s carrying voice, “I’d like to thank you.”

The colonel’s hands, busying about trying to put the lilac in her hair without mussing it, stilled in his confusion. “Whatever for? I already said that the flower was the professor’s idea.”

“No, not that,” she giggled, the reminder that Gold had thought to get her a lilac turning her into a giddy fool. “For being my friend. The only friends I’ve ever had were Rose and Mulan, and they’re practically my sisters. You’ve been my first true friend since that night you bought a white rose from me.”

Belle had never seen Jefferson go so still. For half a second, every muscle in his face completely froze. His eyes washed suspiciously wet, though, and he eventually opened his mouth as if he might want to say something, but he was cut off by the echoing call of the valet.

“Madame Molly Ficient. Professor Gold.” 

“I think that’s our cue,” Belle nudged.

Jefferson smiled, teeth and all. He brought her gloved hand to his lips, kissing the back of her knuckles quickly before settling them on his elbow. “And for the record, Belle, you’re one of my only friends, too.”

Belle discreetly wiped the happy tears from her eyes while Jefferson stepped up to the valet.

“Colonel Hatter and Belle French,” he whispered.

The man opened his mouth to announce them, but quickly did a double take.

“Colonel Hatter? Well, that’s a bit oxymoronic, isn’t it?”

“I don’t believe you meant to add the ‘oxy’ part, lad,” Gold scoffed, even as he led Molly down the grand staircase.

“Tosh,” Jefferson scoffed, lifting Belle’s gloved hand and kissing her wrist. “You’re just jealous because I’ve the prettiest girl in the room on my arm. No offence, Madame Ficient.” 

“None taken,” she drawled, almost drowning out the now-disgruntled valet who had finally decided to announce them. “I quite agree.”

Belle felt like her grin could’ve replaced the chandelier with its brightness. She – the product of a third-class parent and even worse circumstances – was in the king’s palace, garbed in a dress that likely cost more than her flat, waiting to meet Queen Mary Marghareta. And in front of her, barely a yard away, was the one and only man she’d ever loved. Who maybe, just maybe, had begun to fall in love with her, too.

Belle managed to not give in to her desire of sliding down the banister with joy. But only just.

—————————————————————————————————————————————

Gold was very much his usual self as he milled about the room with his companions. He let Molly make the introductions as she was wont to do anyway. He sneered at anyone who dared make small talk with him and cut them off at the knees before they could say too much, and only smiled briefly at Jefferson over Belle’s head when she said something particularly astute. He was the very picture of calm and tranquility. 

In truth, though, he felt more like he was about to hyperventilate.

Belle had touched him. Twice. Not an accidental brush, either, but a purposeful caress of his skin. Her eyes had lit up at the lilac he’d picked for her, and, though he couldn’t help but wonder if she assumed the gift was from the younger man, his heart fluttered at seeing her so happy. And, if Molly was to be believed, she’d been staring at him, too.

The ring in his pocket suddenly felt like a damn brick – maybe his plans would work, after all.

“… and our generous hostess, Lady Cora Mills.”

The happiness that had started to overwhelm him was flushed away in an instant at Molly’s words. Cora – he knew he’d forgotten something.

Before he could grab Belle and Jefferson and drag them away from what was sure to be quite a spectacle, the woman in question stepped closer into view. He instinctively pulled Belle behind him all the same, even as he turned to greet the inevitable. 

She was dressed in red muslin laced in black, all too familiar colors for her peach skin. Granted, the first time he’d seen such a combination on her, she was his student, and quite a few years younger. But, then, so was he. He’d also been quite a bit more naïve, and quite a bit less perceptive to the ways in which pretty women could trick a man out of his life’s purpose. Her hair was just as familiar, curled into a simple but ostentatious design with the help of a thick black comb. Eyes, too dark to be brown, mouth, too dark to be pink – all of it was just the same. She was as regal as always. 

He hadn’t expected anything else.

“Oh, you hardly have to introduce me, Molly,” the woman smirked. “Richard and I go back a long way, don’t we?”

Somehow – for he really wasn’t quite sure – he managed to nod tersely in her direction. 

“Really?” Jefferson piped up from over his shoulder, taking over as Molly disappeared. He gave the younger man a brief glance and saw that he was toying with the cravat around his neck, something he only did when exceptionally nervous. “Were you his student, too, then?”

Cora laughed, the sound just as melodic as he remembered. Gold locked his mouth in place to keep from grimacing – the woman barely rated a month-long footnote in his life, but she still had the power to put him out of sorts. As he always did when he thought of her (which was a rare thing indeed, thank God), he regretted ever deciding to teach her proper English. 

“I see you’ve met my daughter, Regina, then?” she asked pleasantly. “Yes, it’s something of a family trait between the two of us – we both owe quite a bit of our knowledge to dear Richard.”

Something tightened in his hand, and he almost jumped before he realized that Belle was standing on that side. She’d stepped out of his protection, taken his hand, and offered him comfort. He didn’t risk looking at her lest the appreciation be too obvious to Cora’s gaze. But he did squeeze her in return. He began to breathe normally again when the corner of Belle’s mouth twitched upwards.

“And who is this lovely dish?” Cora continued demurely, catching Belle subtle gesture just as surely as he himself had. “I must say, dear, you’ve quite outdone the whole crowd.”

Belle’s smile didn’t falter in the least. “Belle French, Your Ladyship,” she acknowledged, dropping into a shallow curtsy before her. Even with every other conceivable thought and emotion swirling about in his head, Gold couldn’t help but be impressed at how well she spoke. “But I’m afraid I can’t quite take credit for the ensemble – you’ll have to give credit to Professor Gold.”

Cora’s eyes snaked back to his for just a moment, winking in a way that he might once have found seductive. “Well, I don’t remember him being quite so fashionable when I was his student,” she simpered. “Though, to be fair, he did quite admire my taste in dresses.”

He glared at her for that, fist tightening around the head of his cane, but she’d already moved on.

“And enough of this ‘Ladyship’ business,” she grinned, taking Belle’s chin hard between her thumb and forefinger. “You can just call me Cora. Any friend of Richard’s is surely a friend of mine.”

Belle was about to respond again, likely with a smart and polite remark that would have Cora on her like a bloodhound, and he wasn’t about to have that.

“Belle, would you like to dance?” he interjected.

His lovely girl jumped almost a foot in the air at his abruptness, almost knocking into him as she did. When finally she settled, though, her eyes were glued on his, her smile slow but forthcoming.

“I’d love to dance, professor,” she answered slowly.

“Grand,” he smiled, taking her hand and passing it to Jefferson. “Colonel, might you show our student to the dance floor?” 

Belle looked like she’d been slapped. His stomach flipped at the irritation on her face, knowing that he shouldn’t be but happy all the same at this obvious show of her feelings. Besides, he would do whatever it took to get her away from his conniving ex-apprentice.

Thankfully, all it took was a significant shift of his eyes in Cora’s direction for Jefferson to understand his purpose. His own irritation melted in an instant, replaced by his usual manic joy as he swept Belle onto the floor, muttering in her ear the whole time. Gold couldn’t help but notice that almost every eye settled on her when they finally joined the brigade, swaying in time to the music like they had the night she’d fallen from his bookshelf. The memory brought a tremor to his arms.

“Romantic as ever, Richard,” Cora leered, interrupting him yet again from his thoughts of Belle. “I see you haven’t lost your touch when it comes to pretty young pupils.”

A chill swept down his spine, but he didn’t give her the satisfaction of shaking in her presence. “What is it you want, dearie?”

Cora stepped ever closer, almost invading his face now as she trailed her fingers along his arm. This time, he did shiver. “We used to get along so well, you and I,” she sighed wistfully. “We still could, you know.”

Gold didn’t bother to respond to that. Thankfully, it didn’t take Cora very long to reach that conclusion, too. It did not, however, mean that she stopped trying.

“This Belle of yours,” Cora started again. “She caused quite a stir at the Ascot. Or so I’m told, of course.”

Gold bit the inside of his lip to keep them from moving, torn between smiling and cursing at her. He still found that whole occurrence the height of amusement, but it seemed that Molly had been right – Cora would see it for what it was, a slip, and there was nothing amusing about the idea of his Belle being arrested for fraud. 

“I’m afraid you’d have to have been there,” he muttered. “Rather loses its effect in the retelling.” 

Far from disheartening her, that only seemed to spur Cora on. Her breasts were all but forced against his upper arm now. He felt he might be sick. 

“Well, whatever happened, she’s certainly caused quite a stir. Everyone’s been talking about her.”

Jefferson chose that moment to spin Belle wide on his arm, showcasing her to the whole room and, more importantly, letting Gold know where she’d gone off to. She smiled dazzlingly as she twirled about in his arms, and an itch of discomfort that he blamed on Cora rather than any supposed jealousy crept up his neck.

“What have they been saying, I wonder?” he asked, trying to sound as indifferent about the question as possible. 

The twitch of his neck had given him away, though, and Cora snickered before turning her gaze fully on Belle, too. “Well, the big thing is that no one seems to know where she’s from. It’s as if you plucked her from thin air.” 

She stepped an inch closer still, but, this time, he managed to duck away from her ensconcing body. He could feel her disappointment, and just managed to hide his own appreciation for that.

“It would be so much easier if you gave me a little hint, Gold,” she huffed, all pretense of pleasantries evaporated. “Come on, who is she? Save us both the time and trouble.”

Gold snorted bitterly. “‘It would save us both the time and trouble,’ dearie,” he corrected. “I must’ve struck a nerve if you’re dropping full parts of speech like that. And, here, I thought I’d taught you better.”

Cora looked utterly stunned at his pronouncement, amazed that he would talk back to her in such a manner. Her expression was short-lived, but Gold cherished it all the same. 

“Those quips might work on my daughter, Gold, but I’m made of slightly stronger stuff,” she responded calmly. “And I wouldn’t recommend trying to hide your precious pupil from us, either. Regina is rather adept at sticking close to people who’d prefer to shake her off.” 

Gold chose not to examine the hidden meaning in that – feeling sorry for the younger Lady Mills only led to destruction for him – and instead turned again to the crowd. Sure enough, there was Regina, her ebony black gown trailing loftily behind her even as it over-accentuated her cleavage, popping in and out of couples’ ways so that she could better spy on his Belle. He might have worried if not for the fact that, every time Regina came too close, she knowingly swept herself and Jefferson out into the middle of the dance floor. His smirk came easily, as did a hundred potential comments he could make about their dear Regina’s “skill”… but all of that flew from his brain like the breeze with a twirl of Belle’s skirt. 

She’d said that she’d never danced before the night he caught her from the bookshelf. Or, rather, she said that she’d never danced the waltz. He’d believed it at the time – beautiful as she was (and was that the moment when he first realized how beautiful she was?), she flitted about as if she had two left feet. That wasn’t true anymore, though – now, she swanned through the room as if dancing were her first language. She looked like an angel. He wondered if her touch could save his soul.

“Well, Richard?”

Gold gulped, somewhat overwhelmed by how easily he’d forgotten Cora’s presence at his side. “Oh yes, very adept,” he finally muttered. “Regina will have us out within the hour. It’s a pity that we’ve nothing to hide, then. You can send the royal guards after her – her blood is the bluest in this room, I…”

Cora waited patiently over his shoulder. “You what, darling?” she simpered. 

But Belle was still spinning, and his patience for Lady Mills had run dry. If he didn’t have the young woman in his arms now, he would die.

He picked up a glass of wine from a passing attendant and shoved it unceremoniously into Cora’s hand. “Enjoy your games, dearie,” he tittered. 

Cora’s mouth pursed unpleasantly, but he had already swept by, not bothering to give her a parting glance. The moment he stepped away, Belle had lifted her eyes and waved, and his purpose was totally certain. Remarkably, amazingly, she cared for him. Maybe she didn’t love him, maybe she never would, but she smiled, and laughed, and touched his hand when he was wan. And if tonight went will, that was everything he’d need when he started his trek to find his son. He needed somebody to make him strong. And that was her.

Nerves be damned – he was proposing tonight.

Gold skirted up to the couple easily, even though Jefferson was swinging Belle about the room at three times the pace of the music. He hefted his cane by its middle and tapped the man on the back, causing him to skitter humorously to a halt. If his head weren’t spinning and he didn’t feel quite so much like keeling over, he might’ve mocked him for it. 

“There you are,” he smiled. “I see you finally shook off your company. Madame Ficient just passed us, and she said she wouldn’t be surprised if Lady Mills held you up all night.”

But he wasn’t really paying attention. He half-smiled at the younger man, an act of nervousness more than anything else, and waved him off as he offered Belle his hand. Her eyebrows furrowed up, but the smile she’d shot him on his walk over remained in place.

“May I have this dance?”

She nodded carefully, about to offer him her own hand, but pulled it back before she’d passed even an inch of the space between them. “Are you going to pass me off to someone else again?” she asked slyly. 

Gold chuckled and took her hand for himself this time. “No, love,” he said, realizing a moment too late what he’d called her, “this one is for me.”

Jefferson all but threw her into his arms, a childish little grin on his face as he shooed them away. Gold didn’t know if he should by the man a drink after this or cane him for his interference. But then, as was the pattern of the night, he forgot to care the moment Belle wrapped her hand around his. 

“Are we going, Professor Gold?” she said teasingly. 

He couldn’t have kept from smiling back if he tried. “Indeed – far be it from me to keep a lady waiting.”

Belle brightened, her other arm moving to circle about his neck, and he hadn’t waltzed in years but the motions came back so easily with her in his arms. His right hand curved softly about the small of her back, his left clutching hers ever closer, and then they were swaying to the violins in the orchestra overhead.

“I didn’t know you could dance so well,” she lilted, an eyebrow quirked up in amusement. “I believe you’ve been practicing in secret, professor.”

He chuckled at her under his breath, more to hide the fact that that was exactly what he’d been doing than out of any real humor. He couldn’t be blamed because a cane made for a difficult dancing experience.

“And I believe you’re being too kind. A two-legged partner is much preferred to one with one good leg and a cane. I’m sure our dear colonel was much more promising.”

He’d expected her to laugh again, to smile or joke or tease him as she’d been doing. But her eyes turned alarmingly serious, enough so that he almost tripped over the base of his cane. 

“It wasn’t a polite compliment,” she scolded. “It’s a fact. You’re a wonderful dancer, professor. I thought so the first time we danced, too.”

Gold’s eyebrows creased. ”We’ve danced before?” he asked with disbelief. Had he held Belle so tightly in his arms before, he surely would have remembered it.

But Belle nodded in the affirmative. ”The night I finally learned to speak properly. You paraded me through the whole library.” A faint blush tinged her cheeks, and he felt the bizarre urge to take it away with a swipe of his tongue. ”I… I think about that night often. There isn’t anywhere I’d rather be than dancing with you.”

His whole chest constricted, even as he spun her out from him so he could catch his breath. “Well, you know I don’t have much practice with compliments,” he joked. That got a laugh out of her, at least, and he felt sane (or as sane as he could be when she was so close) once more when he twirled her in. “But thank you, Belle. And, for the record, I think of that night often, as well.”

She moved closer to him in the dance, removing a solid inch of space between their chests. Gold imagined that he could even feel her heartbeat.

“I don’t think you’ve ever said ‘thank you’ to me before,” she whispered. The shake of her head pulled a curl out of her comb, and he swept it back before he realized he’d even made the decision to do so. 

“I’ll have to remedy that,” he answered softly.

Belle looked at him like she might come even closer, but she paused a moment before her foot slid into his, her eyes focused on something at his back. He sighed in relief – if he touched any more of her, he couldn’t be held responsible for very ungentlemanly actions his body might make.

“Everyone’s staring at us,” she whispered, her cheeks blushing pink as she looked around his elbows. She was about to drop her head, embarrassed at being caught, but Gold wouldn’t allow it – he didn’t want to lose her eyes.

Gold placed his fingers behind her ear, tracing back the curls that had escaped from her elaborate hairdo. She immediately snapped to look at him, eyes wide at his face, and he cringed, knowing that the touch had been too rough.

“They’re staring at you,” he corrected anyway, his voice rather more hoarse than he’d intended. “You’re lovely.”

Belle smiled warmly, almost nuzzling into his hand before he replaced it on her back. She was so open with him, so calm and accepting and sweet. His Adam’s apple bobbed – this was it. This had to be the moment. 

“Belle, I… I have something to ask you,” he rasped. “About our conversation last night.”

She cocked her head to the side. “Oh?”

He nodded roughly, unable to really tear himself away from her eyes. Had they always been so blue? 

“It has to do with… with what you’ll be doing after tonight.”

Belle’s eyes went wide as an owl’s. “You’ve found work for me?” she asked hopefully. 

He stumbled on his bad foot. It didn’t help that her arms went immediately under his elbows to keep him from falling.

“Professor Gold?”

“I’m fine,” he murmured. “Bad step. And, no, it… it isn’t quite a job offer.”

For a moment, he wondered if she hadn’t already guessed where his words were going. She certainly stepped closer, her eyes heavy-lidded, her beautiful breasts heaving (and he needed to tear his eyes away from them lest he become a total cad in the middle of the dance-floor). But she didn’t ask him to continue. Instead, she blinked her eyes in rapid succession, almost as if she were coming out of a dream.

“We’re still dancing,” she whispered. 

His hand traced the curve of her spine as he twirled them out again, leaning heavily on his cane for support. “I realize that,” he replied, somewhat confusedly. He was about to spin her again, but a tug of her hand brought him to a stop.

“Professor, the music has stopped.”

Gold furrowed his brows, about to ask her what she was talking about, but the silence between them offered all the answers he needed – the music had indeed stopped playing. He lifted his head, trying to see where the orchestra members had gone to, but all he saw were rows of people surrounding the empty space in which he and Belle were dancing. Alone. No one else remained on the floor.

“Richard!”

Gold whirled around at Molly’s all-too-familiar hiss. She leaned out from one of the rows and pulled him and Belle apart with her taloned nails, succeeding in pulling them to her sides all the same time.

“Honestly, you idiot, the queen is about to enter! You can flirt with your little protégé another time.”

Gold dropped his face discreetly in Belle’s direction. She was obviously flushed at Molly’s pronouncement, but he couldn’t say she looked unhappy about it. The corners of his lips tweaked upwards. 

“Ladies and gentlemen!” the voice of the valet thundered. “Lords and ladies! Announcing Her Majesty, Queen Mary Marghereta of Transylvania, and her husband, the Crown Prince David.”

A hush even greater than before swept over the crowd. Women craned over their husbands’ shoulders for a better look, the waiting staff the same with everyone before them. They didn’t have to wait long – the moment the valet stepped to the side, the royal couple swept in. 

They were a pretty pair, to be sure. The prince fair and handsome, dressed to the nines in a thick, white frock coat over a dark naval suit with insignia. Some of the younger women in the room tittered at him behind their hands, to which Gold could only roll his eyes. He was impressed, and beyond a little relieved, that Belle did neither. Or, at least, she’d done neither in the split second he’d taken to glance at her – he hadn’t realized that the bloody music had stopped playing last time he got caught up in her eyes, and he wasn’t about to risk it again.

The queen, however, wasn’t all what he was expecting. Unlike the other young ladies in the hall, or even her regally attired husband, she had selected a remarkably simple gown. The bodice was fitted with a black sash, the only trace of shade or color on her otherwise snow white garb, the train of which stretched only a foot or so behind her. A thin row of beads decorated the front and collar of her dress, but the rest of it was astonishingly plain. If it weren’t for her crown, he never would have guessed she was royalty at all.

The crowd folded in on Their Highnesses as they swept down the red carpet, nodding at familiar members of the nobility and stopping to shake hands with friends. Gold found himself all but tapping his foot as they neared the front of the queue, ready for the spectacle to be over with so that he and Belle could return to dancing and their conversation. The thought had barely crossed his mind, though, when – and to his great astonishment – the queen stopped directly in front of his Belle.

She lingered on his beloved student, her crystal green eyes taking every inch of her in as the hall held its breath. Belle herself seemed out of her mind at the turn of events. Even pale as a sheet and obviously in shock, though, Gold thought her the most beautiful woman in creation. While Queen Mary-Marghareta had been heralded since her coronation as “The Fairest in the Land”, he maintained that Belle far outshone her. Having them put side by side only confirmed the fact.

“Your Majesty,” Belle finally acknowledged, not wavering in the least as she dropped her head and curtsied. Gold could feel the waves of apprehension rolling off of her, though, and he wondered for a moment if he hadn’t been too quick to dismiss Belle’s chances at being found out. Before he could even begin to come up with a plan to rescue her should worst come to worst, though, Mary-Marghareta lifted her chin, stared at her, and, miraculously, smiled.

“Charming,” the queen stated plainly. Belle stood steady under her gaze, and Gold wondered if she hadn’t frozen on the spot. “Husband, I think this young lady might’ve stolen your nickname from you.”

The couple looked at her adoringly, and, if the whole ball hadn’t been focused on Belle already, they certainly were now. Even when they swept by, half of the crowd’s focus remained cinched on her. Gold smirked and let his fingers fly to her side, gently caressing her gloved hand as she’d done with his earlier. She took them quickly, and he snickered at the silent squeal of delight that left her lips, the astonished look she gave him even as she traced the queen with her eyes. For the first time all night, he allowed himself to think of the bet. And the thought made him smile – they’d won. Belle had won. The queen herself had taken her for a member of the court. If it didn’t run the risk of alerting the whole ball to their deception, he might’ve jumped for joy and whisked Belle into a tango.

The rest of the room, though, was still waiting with bated breath as the queen and her prince took their seats on the thrones at the end of the carpet. Gold hoped that this might mean he could finally have his much-needed alone time with Belle, but his hopes of that were once again thwarted when the valet came hobbling towards them. He nodded briefly at Gold before turning to Belle and full-out bowing.

“Pardon me, miss, but the prince would like to ask you to dance.”

Belle blanched whiter than even the queen’s dress. Her eyes flitted to him, obviously asking if it were wise to do so. His instinctual reaction was to say no, royalty and decorum be damned. But his Belle deserved this. She’d earned a night of dancing with a prince. 

He held back his pride as he nodded at her and tilted his head in the direction of the dancehall. He could tell that she wanted to hug him, maybe even kiss him, if he allowed his imagination to wonder, but she restrained herself by merely smiling before following the valet to the prince’s seat.

Every eye that was glued on her bugged out to an obscene degree when the Prince took her hand and led her to the center of the room. Gold half-expected that Belle might trip, anxious as she doubtlessly would be with so many people staring at her, but she didn’t falter once. She picked up the hem of her dress, took the prince’s hand, and grinned so regally that no one could guess that she was anything but a lady.

The music started again, a soft, romantic tune that had Gold cursing them for holding back on it. It made Belle’s movements seem all the more sensuous, and, moreover, it would have been the perfect ambiance for him to pop the question. There was very little he could offer Belle that wasn’t in the way of money, so whatever romance he could give her he’d be more than happy to. And even though the prince was married – and to Queen Mary-Marghareta, no less – every bit of Gold’s irritation centered in on him. He had no delusions like he had the night August had first appeared on their doorstep – he was jealous. A jealous old fool in love with a much younger, much more beautiful woman.

“Ah, there you are,” a haughty voice muttered behind his ear. He didn’t have to turn to know who was speaking, and, even if he did, he wouldn’t have – his Belle was a goddess in another man’s arms, and he could no more look away than tear out his own heart.

“I’m rather busy at the moment, dearie,” he dismissed, not even bothering to glance at her. “Run along and play hostess with your mother – I’m sure you two will have fun theorizing new ways to annoy me.”

Regina gripped his shoulder hard and twisted him towards her. He managed to pivot on his cane, to make his actions seem totally rehearsed, but his irritation at the woman remained rather vivid. 

“I’d like to have a word with you,” she said softly. “And I don’t think you’ll want anyone else to overhear us.”

Without meaning to, he caught himself looking for Belle. Regina could do her no harm from this distance, especially now that she was dancing with the prince, but he couldn’t keep his worry at bay. To his surprise, though, when he finally met her eyes across the room, he found her watching him worriedly, too. It really shouldn’t have amazed him so – his Belle was brilliant, whatever he might’ve said to the contrary, so it was understandable that she’d sense something was wrong – but he welcomed the surge of pride for her that came with it all the same.

He nodded once to her in reassurance before turning spitefully in Regina’s direction and hissing, “Fine, dearie. Lead the way.”

Thankfully or not, she only took him a few yards away from the rest of the crowd, close enough still that they could both see Belle without straining but far enough that their voices would be drowned out by the music. Gold interjected himself immediately into their conversation before she could get started trying to roil him up. God knew he was anxious enough tonight as it was.

“Yes, you’ve got me alone, now, what do you want?” he snapped. 

Regina’s lips twitched at the edges. “Touchy, Gold,” she smirked. “Are you upset about my interruption?”

“More concerned, actually,” he snarked. “Is life really so dull for you that you had to rip me away from such a captivating party? Were you not having enough fun sniffing around for unsuspecting young men in dark corners?”

He was rather more pleased than he should’ve been at the angry glint in her eyes.

“Don’t try to make this all about me, Gold,” she seethed.

He snorted. “Funny, I don’t remember bringing you up in the first place, dearie. Get to the point.”

Regina’s eyes pulled down to glare at him, but her mouth was still smirking. Gold wondered how she’d perfected so dismal an expression until she opened her lips and hissed,

“Fine. I know who your girl is, Gold. And it isn’t what you’ve been saying.”

The cane almost slid out of his hand. If Belle hadn’t so fully eradicated his mask for the evening, he might have been able to hide it from Regina, but, as it was, she caught the mistake just as quickly as he did. Her insidious smirk was proof enough of that.

“Really?” he asked, feigning nonchalance even though he’d already slipped. “And what might that be?”

“Oh, you know perfectly well ‘what that might be’,” she all but laughed. “But I’ll play along. Allow me to outline how I found out before I reveal the ‘big secret’.”

She took a deep breath, savoring her conquest with more gusto than he thought was at all healthy, before smiling and carrying on.

“My first clue was Molly’s Asian girl at the Ascot,” she stated. Her eyes indifferently followed the couples waltzing by them, but Gold knew it was just a front to put him on edge. He damned her that it worked. “No proper English woman would converse with a slave, much less a foreign one. I thought, at first, that it had just been a fluke. Perhaps she’d thought it was someone else. But then I caught talking again when I ran into her at the stables.”

Despite the fact that every bone in his body had simultaneously frozen stiff, Gold somehow managed to sneer derisively at his ex-pupil.

“‘Ran into’? That’s a phrase for ‘stalking’ that I haven’t heard before.”

His words had no effect on Regina at all, though. She was on a roll; for once, she had the upper hand, and both of them were aware of how much power that put in her hands. 

“The next thing I noticed was her voice. You taught her well, of course, but changing her pronunciation could only do so much. I wonder, does she miss her homeland, Gold?”

“Enough of this,” he growled, lashing out in fear and rage. “Get to your point – who do you think she is?”

Regina smirked, her head held high now that she knew she’d won. She took a wineglass from a passing serving boy, let the bouquet swill about in her mouth as means of gloating, before leaning in with her best show of threatening.

“When the prince asked her to dance, that was when I realized all the facts. The way she dances, the way she faces everyone so calmly – all of it’s a front. A good front, mind you – I must give credit where credit is due,” she winked. “To anyone else, she could’ve passed as the perfect, proper English lady. But not to me. And that’s because she isn’t a proper English woman. Is she, Gold?”

He didn’t think about his career. He didn’t think about Jefferson’s, either, come to that. All he could think, as Regina lifted her blood-red wine victoriously to her lips, was that his selfish affection had just cost Belle her life.

And a very large part of him broke at the idea that he’d written her warrant for death.

He’d never be able to forgive himself.

—————————————————————————————————————————————

Belle spun about pleasantly in Jefferson’s arms, even as she kept her eyes peeled for Professor Gold. After her dance with Prince David had ended, he’d all but vanished from the scene. It didn’t help that, last she’d seen of him, he’d been cornered by a suspiciously gloating Regina. It also didn’t help that both she and her mother had disappeared, too. 

“I hate these things,” someone commented tiredly over her shoulder. Jefferson spun them around so they could both see who it was, and she smiled slightly to see Molly standing at their backs. “Too much noise and it takes forever to find who you’re looking for. It’s a good thing I have an excuse to head off. At my age, beauty sleep is the only thing that does any good.”

“Oh, I won’t believe a word of it, Madame,” Jefferson smirked.

Molly traced his chin with the corner of one of her nails, and Belle snickered when that sent a whole shiver down his spine. And here she’d thought he only had eyes for Miss Swan from the races. 

“If you were a few years younger, colonel,” she purred. 

Jefferson stammered about like a fish, to which both Belle and Molly smirked. The latter gave him another swift tap on his nose before turning to Belle and grasping her hand. She was confused, for a moment, until she felt something hard and thin in her palm. When she opened her glove, there was a tiny slip of paper with scrawled lettering on it. 

“My address,” Molly explained. “Open invitation, dear. That sister of yours never shuts up about you, and I thought it might give me a moment’s peace of mind if you came to visit now and then.”

She leaned forward as if to kiss Belle's cheek, but slid closer to her ear at the last second.

“He’ll break your heart, girl," she whispered. "Come see me when he does.”

Belle’s eyes widened, her mouth already open to ask what Molly could mean by that, but the woman had already sauntered off. She wondered if fate wasn’t having a go at her when Professor Gold showed up just behind the woman.

“Ah, Richard,” she said dryly, “I was just about to –”

But he passed her by without even a glance. Molly spun around to follow him with her eyes, obviously confused and irate about his rudeness, but he still didn’t stop. She bristled like an angry cat and marched off, grabbing a glass of champagne on her way through the crowd.

“Gold, what’s wrong?” Jefferson asked, taking the words right out of Belle’s mouth even though he didn’t seem hardly as concerned as she did about it. He did grow a bit more serious, though, when Gold only waved him off like an errant fly. 

“Nothing, nothing,” he huffed. “I just came to tell you both that I’m going to go ahead and hail a cab home.”

She and Jefferson both stopped in their tracks. 

“And the reason for that would be…?” Jefferson drawled, his hat tipped back almost to his hairline.

The scant attention Gold had been giving the colonel slipped away entirely. It frightened Belle, more than it soothed, when the professor turned his intense focus wholly on her instead.

“Something has just… come to my attention,” he imparted, the words for her and her alone, it seemed. “I must be on my way. You were… incredible, Belle. Tonight and every other night of this little endeavor. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

Belle opened her mouth to question what he could possibly be talking about, but her words died on her tongue when he took her hand in his. He lifted it to his face, caressed her knuckles with the barest touch of his lips. His eyelids fluttered shut as he kissed her, almost as if he wanted to commit the moment to memory. And then it was over. Belle watched as his eyes snapped open, as he let her hand drop to her side and all but raced from the hall, positively shaking. Belle raised her shaking hand to her mouth. Something had gone wrong. Something must’ve gone terribly wrong. 

Her eyes scanned the length of the long hall, searching for something, anything, that could give her a clue about what had scared her professor so greatly. She looked to Jefferson, hoping he’d have some understanding, but he seemed just as worried and perplexed as she. 

She spun around again, beads of sweat falling cold on her nape. Everyone’s eyes were on her, their mouths hidden behind gloved hands as they whispered and nodded and gasped. On the far side of the room, the twittering whispers reached Madame Ficient, and Belle froze when the unshakeable woman dropped her glass. 

“Belle,” Jefferson snapped, his grip like iron on her shoulder, “something’s wrong.” 

“Why?” she asked carefully, even though she wasn’t sure if she wanted to hear the answer. 

Thankfully or not, though, Jefferson didn’t say a word. But then, he didn’t really have to – Belle understood what had happened the moment her eyes focused on the center of the ballroom. 

The Misses Mills, decked in all their splendor, their lips pressed cunningly to spread the muttering to other ears, stood shoulder to shoulder in the midst. Regina’s eyes flickered momentarily her way, and flickered back when she realized Belle was staring. She nudged her mother with a tap to her elbow, and, suddenly, both sets of dark brown eyes were honed in on hers. The women waved their gloved hands, one pitch black and the other blood red, and smiled at her with raven-like grins. Belle’s blood chilled.

They’d been caught.


	13. Chapter 12:  Show Me

Accustomed to Her Face (12/15)  
Title: Chapter 12: Show Me

Rating: NC-17 for smut in the last two thirds

Author’s Note: And here’s the chapter you’ve all been waiting for! All of the unresolved sexual tension, all the emotion, comes to a head right here, people! With just 3 more chapters to go!!!!!! :D

Anyway, sorry bout all the delays - I’ve been studying for exams since last Monday, and I’ve started a new job, so, as you can imagine, I’ve been somewhat busy. But the good news is that, after Thursday, you’ve got me all to yourselves for 3 1/2 months (minus my job, of course, but I’m only gonna end up working on weekends, I think). 

Alright, enough stalling. I’m sure you’re anxious to get to the smut ;) Carry on, my lovelies, and, as always, be sure to tell me what you think:

 

The carriage ride home was without doubt the most nerve-wracking experience of Belle’s life. 

She and Jefferson hadn’t had to wait since Mr. Wayne-Booth’s driver was still milling outside with their carriage, but that wasn’t much of a consolation – it would be a long enough drive back to Wimpole Street either way, and that meant she had plenty of time to worry about how much Regina and her mother had found out. It also meant that Professor Gold had hailed a cab for himself, and there was no way of knowing where he’d gone to.

Her eyes glared anxiously out the window, searching for some hint of the professor’s whereabouts even though she knew she wouldn’t find one. It confounded her, angered her, to wonder how he could have just left them behind. How, knowing that Regina had caught on, he had simply vanished without any support or advice. Because, as far as Belle was concerned, his command to remember that she’d done well in her part of the project was far from reassuring. After all, she couldn’t have done too well if she’d been found out. 

Belle wrung the fraying ends of her velvet seat for something to do, studiously ignoring Jefferson’s twirling hat, his own show of anxiety. Much as she wanted it to be the case, it wasn’t just confusion she was feeling – it was betrayal. For one moment, one lovely, wondrous moment, she’d thought that Professor Gold might care for her, too. With his arms around her and his cane gently prodding her feet, she’d dared to hope that he even loved her. She still did, actually – the way he’d touched her, held her, looked at her, couldn’t mean anything else, especially for a man so distant. 

“Coming up to Wimpole Street!” the driver called overhead.

Jefferson leapt from his seat to look out the window, grabbing his head when it knocked against the frame without his hat to buffer the blow. His finger twitched as he held onto the ceiling, and Belle clutched them to give both of them support. They still moved in her grip, but at least she had something to hold.

As they rounded the corner, though, Jefferson lurched from her hands. Belle wanted to take them again, or, better yet, look out the other window and see for herself, but she was too afraid to move. If Professor Gold wasn’t home, if the pavement was free of any other cabs or carriages, then she’d know that he was gone. She’d know that she’d failed, and he’d done run off lest he be caught, too. 

She gulped, and pulled slowly on Jefferson’s sleeve. “Is… is he there?” she asked cautiously.

The colonel said nothing. She waited, anxiously, for what felt like hours, before she finally heard his voice mutter,

“A cab just left from the professor’s address.”

Belle lunged for the other carriage door, even though they were still in motion. Professor Gold was home, and she wasn’t going to wait another moment while her stomach churned and her mind raced. She needed to know how bad it was, and she needed to know immediately. 

She jerked it open and hefted herself out. If not for her dress, she would’ve made the landing easily, but, as it was, she tripped on the hem just as she touched the ground. Before she could tumble to the ground, though, a pair of strong arms wrapped around her and pulled her up.

“Ah, Miss French!” the man greeted. 

Belle stilled at the sound of his voice, and pushed him away before he could grab for her again. “Mr. Wayne-Booth, I haven’t the time,” she huffed, picking up the edge of her dratted gown as she raced down the concrete. She dimly heard the carriage squeal to a stop beside her, quickly followed by Jefferson’s boots as he leapt out the window, but she couldn’t really bring herself to care.

“These are for you!” August continued, proffering a bouquet of wildflowers from behind his back as he raced to keep up. “I must say that you look gorgeous, darling. I hope you didn’t mind my sending Archie to escort you. I would’ve gone myself, but -”

Jefferson pushed the man out of the way, obviously not caring to listen to his babblings any longer. Belle would’ve thanked him, even if she did feel a slight guilt over August’s treatment in a far corner of her mind, but the sight of Abigail’s face in the window distracted her. 

Ruby popped up in the hallway beside her, hastily opening the door and yanking both of them inside. She leaned out for a moment, focused on the carriage before the door. “Who’s he?” she asked, pointing at Archie. 

Abigail shushed her away and slammed the door. “Not now, Ruby!” she hissed, fretting about Belle’s shawl to grip her by her shoulders. “What’s happened?” 

Belle meant to answer, she truly did, but the only words that left her mouth were, “Is the professor here?”

Abigail looked at her curiously, but, after a moment, nodded. Belle sighed, feeling the weight collapse from her shoulders in relief. “Yes, he’s in the library,” she answered. “He arrived not a quarter of an hour ago.”

“Has he said anything?” Jefferson asked, prodding the four of them to the library door. “Anything at all?”

Ruby shook her head this time. “Not a word. He’s just been in there pacing.”

Belle met Jefferson’s eyes – they were just as wide, just as frantic, as she was sure her own were.

Abigail’s, meanwhile, volleyed between them with a growing look of irritation. “Will either of you please tell me what’s going on now?”

Belle glanced at the library door, listening in vain for some noise from within. Nerves pulsed all over her body as she turned, mouth open, to Mrs. Nolan, but no words came out. As he was wont to do, though, Jefferson quickly jumped in to her rescue.

“Lady Regina Mills,” he said, growling the name as if it were some sort of disease. “She and her mother caused quite a stir at the ball.”

Mrs. Nolan’s hands flew to her mouth. “Regina? The professor’s ex-student?”

Jefferson nodded. “The same.” He looked carefully at Belle from the corner of his eyes, and lowered his voice before adding, “We think she knows who Belle really is.”

The women’s gasps of shock echoed ghastly in the quiet hallway, and Belle could take it no longer. Hands shaking, she pulled open the doors and barged in.

She hadn’t been expecting anything, not really, but the sight of the untouched library still surprised her. The tables were still upright, the floor was clean of any glass or debris, and the only alcohol to be found was a quite full decanter of scotch. In short, it didn’t look like the professor was angry in the slightest. And yet, just as Abigail had informed them, there he was, his mouth set in a firm line and his eyes staring blankly a nothing as he paced a hole into the carpet by the fireplace.

“Professor, they’re back,” Mrs. Nolan huffed, following Belle inside with Ruby and Jefferson in tow. “Now, I’ve had quite enough of this secrecy – it’s been running us all ragged. Tell us what happened.”

Gold glanced up. He was obviously somewhat surprised by their appearance, but Belle could tell he was too distracted to really dwell on it. Still, he took the time to scan each of their faces, staring with an ire that Belle recognized immediately as helplessness. Before he reached her, though, he turned away and focused himself resolutely on the mantelpiece, pouring himself a shot of scotch that he didn’t touch. Belle masked her sudden hurt and confusion reasonably well, but, with him not looking her way, she didn’t suppose it really mattered. 

Abigail stepped closer, her hands gripped tightly on her hips. “Professor Gold, what –?”

“Yes, yes, I heard you the first time, dearie,” he snapped. “You want to know if the police are on their way to arrest us all for fraud.”

The breath caught in Belle’s throat – so she had been discovered, then. Her whole body shook yet again. 

The professor twitched towards her, either because he’d seen her twitch, too, or because he’d heard her gasp, but he still wouldn’t look directly at her. 

“I wouldn’t worry about it,” he muttered. He looked away from Belle’s feet to stare at the rest of their faces. “Any of you. Regina couldn’t even tell which country Molly’s Asian girl comes from, I doubt –”

“Mulan?” Belle interrupted. “But what’s she got to do with this? She can’t be in trouble, she –”

Professor Gold waved her off, eyes just as firmly attached to his tumbler of scotch as ever. “Nothing like that…” He hesitated where normally he would have called her “dearie”, and the silence, at least for her, was deafening. “As far as I know, she’s safe and sound in Molly’s apartments. I only brought her up because Regina listed her as her first clue to figuring you out.”

“Well, we don’t have a moment to lose, then!” Jefferson shouted. Belle and the professor each jumped a foot in the air – it seemed that neither of them had remembered there were other people in the room. “If she knows, we have to leave at once!”

Much to Belle’s surprise, the professor only chuckled at that. “You obviously weren’t listening to me, dearie. Regina wouldn’t know about Belle if she’d seen her selling flowers with her own eyes.”

The colonel groaned, hands flying madly into the air. She thought he looked rather torn between wanting to rip his hair out or strangle Gold to the carpet. “What are you talking about, man!? We saw her and her mother, we heard everybody talking!” 

Gold looked as if he’d very much like to drink his liquor now, but he refrained. “You obviously didn’t hear them too well if you’re still harping on about it.”

Belle craned ever close to him, even at the sound of Jefferson’s and Abigail’s snorts of derision. She still had faith, even after he’d left them alone at the ball, that he wouldn’t lie to them. Not about this; not where her safety was concerned. 

She held onto that hope as her professor plunked the scotch back down on the mantle and pointed to the settee near his back. 

“Well, take a seat,” he huffed. “You’ll want to be off of your feet when you hear what exactly Regina ‘found out’.” 

No one moved. Gold looked over his shoulder at them, and Belle might’ve been relieved to see his familiar annoyance with the lot of them if it weren’t for her lingering apprehension.

“Go on, sit down,” he repeated viperously. 

Jefferson snorted, and Mrs. Nolan made an impatient clucking sound, but both they and Ruby complied to him this time. Belle, though, remained standing, arms crossed and ears intently focused for the professor to start talking. He glanced briefly at the floor before her feet again, but spun back to the room at large before she could see his expression again. He coughed and swilled his finger about in his glass.

“Alright then. Well, while Belle was dancing with the prince,” he started, and Belle assumed that his hiss of annoyance stemmed from her refusal to give in to him, “Regina told me a very curious tale.”

He finally gave in and downed the scotch in his glass, only to fill it right back up again. 

“She didn’t tell me outright, of course,” he continued. “As usual, she had fun trying to string me along for a while longer. Started off by telling me how she’d been ‘spying’ on her while she was dancing with you.” He pointed at Jefferson and took another drink. “Of course, you saw how effective that attempt was – every time she stepped close, Belle moved away.”

Belle thought for a moment that he might’ve smiled. He poured himself another, though, and his lips were hidden by the amber liquid he seemed intent on drowning himself with. 

“But, of course, she’s never been one to take a hint, dear Regina. She kept going on about how obvious we’d been, how every minute detail about Belle’s general demeanor gave her away. Her speech, her walk, the way she looked at–”

Gold cut himself off, his fourth drink poised halfway to his lips. Belle waited with bated breath – as did everybody else – for him to continue, but their patience was in vain. Indeed, he only stood there, frozen in place by the mantle as if suddenly turned into a statue. But then his head moved to the side, and his eyes stuck to Belle. His expression was indecipherable, and he still didn’t quite meet her eyes, but Belle froze just like him all the same. She was still scared, still furious with him for leaving… but she was still in love with him. And the way his eyes stared at her now, so unnaturally passionate and possessed, wasn’t helping things.

“The way she looked in her dresses,” he ended anticlimactically. His eyes returned to the mantle, and Belle felt once again bereft. Still, her own eyes narrowed at him – he was hiding something. 

That suspicion was confirmed when next he muttered, “Her gloating was tedious, especially after I’d asked her to get on with it three times and she refused. So, like any good little girl, she went whining to mummy and had her tell me instead. And there was no pretense from her, I assure you.”

Belle heard the sofa creak as the other three leaned ever closer to Professor Gold. And despite herself, Belle did the same. But Gold didn’t look at any of them. Instead, he raised his head to the ceiling, shook his head, and muttered,

“After all the hard work I put into teaching the both of them, I’d have thought they’d come up with something better than declaring Belle a Hungarian princess.”

Somewhere, Belle heard Jefferson’s exclamation of surprise. Somewhere, she saw Abigail and Ruby grip each other and squeal. But it was all too vague, too slow, for her to really understand. She hadn’t been caught – she’d done well. She’d fooled them all, even their greatest enemies, into believing that she was a true-born lady. And Gold had left her to think the worst while, all along, he knew she’d won their bet. 

She’d never felt so numb in her life.

“You’re joking!” Jefferson roared over her haze. “You’re having us on, Gold!”

The professor shook his head and returned to his drink with a great deal of irony. “I assure you, dearie, I’ve not uttered a single lie. I wish I had, though – it’s rather insulting considering I was their teacher. ‘Her clothes are the height of Hungarian fashion’, ‘her pronunciation of certain words is too stilted to be truly English’, they said. They were spot-on for the latter, but even a fool could’ve guessed she’s Australian.”

Jefferson shook his head with a peal of joyous laughter. “I still can’t believe it! Certainly Regina could have guessed something so absurd, but Cora?”

For the first time since they’d arrived home, Gold smirked. “She didn’t. Well, not at first. Understandably, she thought that her daughter had jumped to the wrong conclusion. So she went to see the queen.” He took another drink, and Belle knew that he was just doing so for dramatic effect. Her fingers clenched angrily at her sides. “She was rather upset, then, when she told Her Highness that a Hungarian Duchess had gotten herself involved in one of my schemes and Queen Mary Marghareta laughed and said, ‘Let her do as she will’.”

Abigail gasped. “The queen played along?”

“I doubt that the queen even knew who Regina was talking about, but, for all intents and purposes, yes.”

Jefferson dissolved into laughter once more and jumped into an impromptu jig with Ruby. Abigail, too, looked happier than Belle had ever seen her, approaching the professor to clink an empty mug lying on the table against his shot glass.

“Well done, Professor!” she praised. “You did it! You really did it!”

Gold accepted her celebration however awkwardly, but he shook his head to disagree at the last second. “It wasn’t all my doing, Mrs. Nolan. I must give credit where it’s due. Jefferson was just as helpful in this project as I was. Which wasn’t much, mind you.”

“I was very useful, you cheeky bastard!” Jefferson laughed. “We turned our Belle into a perfect lady!”

Gold only glared at him. “Neither of us did a damn thing, colonel – all of that was Belle’s doing. The only person who needs praising for tonight is her.”

The party stopped rather abruptly – no one, it seemed, had expected him to thank anyone but himself for tonight’s success. Least of all Belle. But for all that it mattered to her in that moment, he might as well have become mute as mime. He’d still lied to her – a simple compliment wouldn’t be enough for him to get back in her good graces.

Abigail noticed the anger on her face first. But, then, Jefferson had been the first to recover, and she hadn’t the time to stop him from speaking, quick and ecstatic as he was. With a grand sweep of his hand, he gestured towards Belle, not yet realizing that she was shaking with rage.

“Right you are, professor!” he shouted. “Belle, you did marvelously! You… Belle?” 

She hardly heard him. Her eyes, her ears, her every thought, were for the professor alone.

“You shoulda… you should have said.” Belle flinched at her almost slip, but she wasn’t about to apologize for it. The ball was over, she hadn’t been found out, and if she made a mistake he bloody well couldn’t punish her for it now. “You shouldn’t have looked so worried.”

The room had fallen deathly quiet. Abigail, Ruby, Jefferson, even Mr. Dove – who’d apparently arrived due to the noise they were making – were all staring at her. Belle only cared about one pair of eyes, though, and they were the only pair that weren’t glued on her.

He couldn’t just terrify herself like that and then pretend it was nothing. Just because she loved him didn’t give him the right to act like her father. 

“Well!” Jefferson exclaimed somewhere off to the side. “It’s been a long day for everyone! Let’s all take a nightcap and get some sleep, hmm?”

“Wait, bu-?”

Ruby’s complaint was cut off by the slamming of the library door – it seemed the colonel had literally shut everyone out to give her and the professor some privacy. She made a mental note to thank him for that later, regardless of how the conversation went.

Belle pushed herself away on shaking knees, her eyes burning into the professor’s skull. He kept his gaze ever-fixedly on the floor, but, by the shiver of his neck, she could tell he’d heard her approach him. She was thankful, now, that the length of her dress covered her trembling legs. 

“You should have told me what happened,” she whispered. “You should have told us. You had us worried sick. We thought she’d found out.”

The professor shuffled guiltily, but he still wouldn’t face her. “I never would have let her touch you,” he murmured. “Not a hair on your head.”

Belle’s heart fluttered at his reassurance, but she refused to let it sway her.

“I wasn’t worried about that,” she snapped. He jumped at her voice, but, still, he didn’t turn around. “I was worried that you and Jefferson would lose your jobs! I can take care of myself fine, but had they caught you it would’ve cost you the chance to go to America and find your son, and… and… look at me when I’m talking to you!”

Professor Gold jumped a foot in the air, dropping his glass on the library carpet, and jerked towards her for the first time since they’d gotten home. Though that was exactly what she wanted, Belle couldn’t help but falter. He’d never looked at her so intensely before, nor had his eyes ever looked so dark. And while his hands clenched at his sides, mouth pursed into a maddeningly thin line, he never once looked away. 

Not even when he forcibly pushed himself away from the wall and headed for her.

Belle almost stepped back, frightened by her quickening pulse and the anger – for that was the only thing that could turn his eyes so pitch black – on his face, but she refused to lose her ground. She was right to be upset with him, right to lose her temper, and though she knew her pride was an ugly thing, she wouldn’t sacrifice it just because of his madness. 

She planted her feet on the carpet, and lifted her face to meet his full on. If it was a fight he wanted with her, it was a fight he would get.  
—————————————————————————————————————————————-

He blamed the alcohol. He would never have acted the arse, never have insulted her, never would never have so nearly slipped when talking about Regina if weren’t for all that damned scotch. At least, that’s what he told himself as he closed the distance between them. Not that it really did any good – he knew that he wouldn’t have needed to take the first sip if it weren’t for his own idiotic mistake of looking directly at his gorgeous Belle. It didn’t matter that he’d avoided her eyes at all cost – the sight of her feet, her face her along were enough to drive him mad. To drive him to drink. To drive him to stop. 

He couldn’t blame the alcohol for the overwhelming love he felt for her when his eyes finally landed on hers. And he certainly couldn’t blame it for the movement of his arms around her waist. It was too timid a gesture, too feeble a notion, to belong to anything but him.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered into her hair. “I never meant to hurt you, Belle. That’s the last thing I would ever, ever want to do.”

His hands moved tremulously over her back, trying to soothe her and regain his own senses. God knew he had no damn idea what he was doing here – the last time he’d comforted someone, he’d… well, actually, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d comforted someone. He only knew that it had been his son. 

Gold brushed the thought away and gripped her closer, almost smiling when she slowly lowered her hands and held him, too. But that motion made him realize for the first time since he’d looked into her eyes that she’d been standing with her fists raised. That she’d been expecting him to fight her.

He released her as if scalded. Even when he tried to do something right, he managed to blast it all to hell. He’d been wrong to work up his nerve for a proposal tonight – his silence, his deliberation, had obviously done more harm than good. 

Gold stepped away, managing by sheer willpower alone not to trip on the cane he’d apparently discarded. But he didn’t get very far – the moment his foot brushed the rod, his Belle was lunging forward, and he was once more engulfed in her embrace. For a moment, he pretended that it was because she actually wanted to touch him, not just because she was too nice to let an old man fall. Even he wasn’t cruel enough to continue with such a sordid fantasy, though. Careful not to let her trip over the cane, either, he attempted to pry himself away once more. But when she should have happily shoved him away, she only tugged him closer.

“Belle?”

She swatted him impatiently on the arm. “Hush,” she chastised into his chest. “I’m trying to hug you and you’re ruining it.”

Gold stared down at her, utterly baffled. “But… you’re angry. With me. Why would you –?”

She cut him off just by placing her palm on his cheek. He tried not to, God he tried, but he couldn’t have stopped himself from breathing in the scent of her skin any more than he could stop himself from breathing period. 

“Because you did first,” she answered softly. “And more importantly, I wanted to.” 

Gold blanched. If he’d been shocked before, he didn’t know how to describe his feelings now. She wanted to touch him? That couldn’t be right. If that was what she meant, then that would give him hope – too much hope – that she might still grow to love him in time, and that gave him other ideas, foolish ideas, and he –

“Actually, I… I’ve wanted to for a while now,” she murmured, effectively putting his thoughts on hold. “The most fun I had all night was when we danced together.”

He stared at her blankly. So, this is what it felt like for his heart to simply give out. It was rather more peaceful than he’d thought it would be. Until Belle laughed, anyway, at which point it started racing all over again.

“I’m still angry with you,” she smirked. “Don’t forget.”

He couldn’t come up with a reason this time. He didn’t even try. The corners of his mouth hurt when he smiled, still unused to it as he was, but he’d smile everyday if it meant she’d look on him with such adoration. 

“As my lady commands.” 

Belle blinked up at him coyly, obviously surprised at his decision to just give in, but her smile never dimmed. “So, she really thought I was a Hungarian princess, then?” she sniggered.

Gold smirked himself and nodded. “‘Bluest blood in the room,’ she said. Including the queen’s.”

She chuckled heavily into his neck, and he was going to feel her breath against his throat for the rest of his life.

“I suppose you feel rather like a proud father now that your project has succeeded,” she smiled.

His head went stiff on top of hers. She’d given him the perfect excuse – all it would take was for him to agree and all of his actions would be explained. He could put away his thus-far dismal attempt at proposing and try again when he had more nerve. But, then, he knew that that day would never come. He wasn’t a brave man – he never had been, and there wasn’t enough luck in the world to ensure that he’d change that now. He was cowardly. And he was too afraid that he would never get this chance again.

He took a deep breath, and brushed at her cheek until she looked him in the eye.

“Dearie, I would be a sick man indeed if I labeled my feelings for you ‘fatherly pride’.”

She went still in his arms. The hair of her scratched against his chin as she leaned back and looked into him. Everything about her face was wide and disbelieving. He still didn’t think she’d ever looked more beautiful. 

“Professor, why did you leave the ball?” she gulped. “Why were you so nervous?”

Gold held his breath – this was it, then. “Do you remember that I was going to ask you something, Belle? Earlier, while we were dancing?”

Belle cocked her head slightly in confusion but nodded. Gold mirrored the action, unable to think of anything else to do. His eyes flickered to the door, almost hoping that someone would interrupt them like they had the last two times he and Belle had been alone in the library, but it seemed that Jefferson had done a thorough job of keeping everybody out. He made a mental note to thank the idiot for that later, regardless of how this conversation went.

Fingers fumbling, he brought his hand down to his pocket and pulled out both boxes. Millie’s velvet contraption looked gangly and awkward next to the wooden, gold-filigreed thing beside it.

“Usually a man would kneel,” he coughed, resorting once more to avoiding her gaze, “but I hope you can forgive me for forgoing that little tradition.”

He took another deep breath, and popped open the velvet lid. He felt rather than saw Belle’s look of confusion, but he pressed on all the same.

“This was my wife’s – this was Millie’s wedding ring, from when we were married. She left it here when she ran away, and, for whatever reason, I never saw fit to get rid of it. Good thing, it turned out.”

He tried to continue, but the words, Because I was going to give this to you tonight, choked clumsily in his throat. 

Belle found the words to keep going for him, though. “What’s in the other box?” she asked. “Is it your wedding ring?”

Gold shook his head, coughing past the fear in the back of his mouth as he did. “Not… not exactly.” Belle’s fingers grazed over the clasp, and it almost snapped open like its velvet counterpart. Gold hissed and tugged it back. “Don’t open it yet!”

But it was too late – Belle’s clumsiness won out yet again, and the box flopped loudly to the floor. The hinges snapped, apparently designed for decoration only, and the ring inside fell into the lid. The sapphire jewel gleamed bright on the white gold setting. 

Belle bent to pick it up for him, but, this time, he beat her – he’d already botched this attempt enough, he had to do at least something right.

“Before… before I tell you what this is, I need to know something,” he rasped. “Earlier, when I… when I said that Regina used your dress as evidence against you… well, that wasn’t what I was going to say. Damn scotch got to my head, and I had to think of something.” He twitched his head towards the liquor, but he found that he couldn’t quite bring himself to look away from Belle’s eyes. She was in his arms, right where she belonged, and he was never going to look away again. 

Maybe the alcohol was still getting to him. 

Belle prodded him with a nudge of her fingertips. “What was it then?”

Gold snapped his eyelids shut. Even the sight of the ring was too much – it reflected her eyes too perfectly, and he’d be lost all over again if he stared at them now. 

“Regina said that, for all my peculiarities, I would never fall for a plain girl. And… and she also said that… you wouldn’t look at me, the way you do, if you didn’t find me worthy, as well.” He laughed bitterly, opened his eyes just a fraction of an inch. “Regina lies, of course. But she only lies when she thinks there’s something in it for her. She’d never say something like this, about either of us, if it weren’t true.” 

The room felt heavy around him, and his breath was growing dry in his chest, but the gentle touch of Belle’s fingers on his shoulder kept him going. 

“That’s how I knew that Millie’s old ring wouldn’t be good enough for you. So, I left the ball in another cab… so I could find a jeweler who could sell me something like this.” 

He held the ring closer to her face, even as he lowered his own to the floor. 

“I’ve been trying to propose to you all bloody night, Belle, but everything kept interrupting. Lucky, I guess, since it means that I had the chance to buy you a new ring, but nothing else went right. I wanted to wait until after I’d told you what the rumors at the ball were, so that you’d be happy when I finally got up the nerve. I thought that, if I could make you happy first, it would give you more incentive to say…”

Belle touched his chin with the tips of her fingers. He didn’t want to look up, didn’t want her to see the drunken neediness on his face, but he couldn’t find it in him to deny her. 

Her eyes were bluer by far than the sapphire ring. He wasn’t sure that anything could match them.

“Yes,” she murmured. 

Gold nodded dumbly. “Exactly. I was hoping I could make you laugh so you’d have a reason to actually say ‘yes’ to this fool idea of mine, but –”

Belle laughed at him, and he’d never gotten sober so quickly in his life. He should’ve known this was a mistake.

He bent down to grab his cane, to march off with whatever dignity he had left, but Belle yanked him closer to her instead. He groaned when their foreheads met – knowing that she’d only laugh again made the feeling of her skin on his unbearable. 

“That’s not what I meant, professor. I meant yes. Yes, I’ll marry you.”

Gold stilled in his attempts to disentangle himself. His world had shrunk to two little blue points of light dancing just before his face. They weren’t lying – there was no deception in her smile.

“What did you just say?”

She took his hand from her waist, but rather than flinging it away like he’d feared, she brought it close to her lips and touched the back of his hand. His whole body shook. 

“You said we’d talk about what I could do with my life after the ball, but I never thought… I never dreamed that this was what you’d come up with.” She beamed brightly, tears dotting the corners of her eyes, and she pressed a real, lingering kiss to his knuckles. “I don’t need any more incentive, professor. I… I love you. That’s enough reason for me.”

He was dreaming. This wasn’t the reality he knew, the one where Belle graciously accepted as a friend, and only after he gave her an excuse about being a lonely old man. This wasn’t a reality he had ever dared to dream about. 

He moved his shivering hand from her mouth to her cheek, caressing the skin as ardently as he dared in the moment. “Forgive me, dearie, but you’re going to have to repeat yourself. Did you just say… did you just tell me…?”

She lifted her own fingers to his lips to stop him, and he knew that they looked quite the awkward pair, touching each other’s face with a pair of ring boxes clenched between them. That was the last thought he had, though, before she put her hands on his shoulders and repeated,  
“I love you.”

With a short laugh, barely hidden by his sigh of relief, Gold collapsed against her chest and held her close. Belle loved him. Belle loved him.

“Thank you, love,” he whimpered, his word muffled by the soft skin above her breasts. But Belle heard him all the same – he could tell by the way she pulled him closer to her heart and stroked the ends of his hair.

“Yes,” she giggled again, and he would never, never tire of hearing her say that. “Oh yes, I will marry you.”

He kissed the hollow of her throat in gratitude, moved his hands up to circle the small of her back until they he was touching every inch of her body. It was only then, though, that he realized what should have been obvious already – that his chin was balanced on the supple skin of her breasts. His whole form shivered, and he knew that he was about to shame himself even further by the hardening in his suit pants, but he wouldn’t move even if there was a musket at his head. This was where he belonged – right over Belle’s heart. The heart that loved him. 

Again, he blamed the alcohol for the wetness that consumed his eyes at the thought of her love, even though the only thing he was drunk on anymore was Belle herself, and he brushed them away by nuzzling lower against the pillows beneath his cheek. She was so soft, so smooth under his own gnarled skin, and he planted kisses on every bare inch he could find. 

A sharp gust of breath left Belle’s mouth, and her hands stilled in his hair even as a shiver coursed down her spine. Gold froze just as surely as she had herself, eyes flashing open in an instant. He wished he hadn’t, though, since it only enabled him to see the soft indentions were his lips had met the tops of her bosom. He cringed – what sort of sick bastard was he that this was his idea of showing her gratitude? 

He raised his head, mouth open to apologize. No man had the right to treat her as he had, and especially not him. But, bastard that he was, he was entirely distracted, left dumb with his mouth hanging open, at the sight of her lips. He’d never seen lips so soft and pink. So close. And moving ever closer. 

She didn’t look angry. She didn’t look offended. She looked determined, and more than a little distracted herself.

“Belle?”

She didn’t respond. Indeed, he doubted that she’d heard him speak at all. But her fingers had begun curling the tendrils of his hair again, and he could taste the sweet champagne of her breath, and he wasn’t about to complain about a second of it. Especially not when she leapt forward with bated breath and captured his lips in her own. 

The earth spun under his feet as if in an earthquake, and he was amazed that he didn’t fall over on the spot. Belle’s lips were on his, moving artlessly and unsurely but perfect all the same – there was nothing more earth-shattering than that. 

Gentleman he was labeled, but, in the small part of his brain that was still operating after her drugging kiss, he knew that none of his actions remotely resembled gentlemanly manners. He didn’t keep the pace of their lips slow, didn’t let her lead and break off in the chaste, simple kiss that she’d intended. Instead, he grabbed the sides of her face, pressing her rouged cheeks between the palms of his hands, and pushed into her with teeth and tongue and lips of his own. If he’d thought the earth was shaking before, then it had surely exploded now. There was no other way to explain the sensation of her joyful sighs into his mouth and the motion of her lips against his as she tried to keep up with the fast tempo. And when she finally allowed her own tongue to join with his, curling her fingers ever tighter in his hair until they were glued mouth-to-mouth, his world went black with pleasure. When he finally came to, her tongue was tight between his lips, and he was sucking on it.

Gold’s eyes flashed, finally taking in what he’d been blinded to even though he’d had his eyes open the whole time he was kissing her. He shouldn’t have let it get this far. His Belle was a lady, even before he’d taught her to be a “proper” one – she was far better than such obscene behavior in the openness of his library. Though, on second thought, she might find the idea romantic as much as she loved books. 

He pulled his lips from hers and shook his head to clear it – that wasn’t a path his thoughts ought to go down.

“Belle,” he panted (and even just saying her name sent a shiver down his spine), “I apologize. This isn’t… I’m sorry, this was wrong of me.”

“How could it be wrong?” she sighed back, and her breathless tone had him hardening all the more. He leaned his lower body away from her lest she feel him, even though separating his left hip from hers all but killed him. “We’re to be married anyway. Isn’t this what married people do?” 

He laughed shortly, even as he brought his forehead to rest on hers once more. “Sweetheart, there are lots of things that married people do, most of which are much less innocent than a simple kiss. And you won’t see me suggesting any of those, either.”

Belle cocked her head to the side and pursed her lips at him, and God if that didn’t make him want to start kissing her all over again. Painful as it was, though, he separated himself from her and took a few steps away from her. He hadn’t realized how humid the air around them had been until he’d backed out of the cloud they’d created. 

“Perhaps we should call it a night,” he said softly, finally reaching down to grab his discarded cane. It felt uncomfortably cold in his grip now that he was used to holding onto Belle’s soft skin, but he clenched around it all the same.

He looked up to see her nod, and the joy that had swelled in his heart retreated somewhat. She might claim to love him, might have been the one to initiate their first kiss, but she obviously didn’t want to take things any further with him physically. He cursed himself – he was a being designed for words, not for physical displays of emotion. 

“I think you’re right,” she murmured. He expected her to walk to the door, to wave him goodnight and wish him pleasant dreams or something similarly sweet. Something similarly her. But she only did the first… and only after grabbing his hands and pulling him with her. “Let’s go to bed.”

He was following her like a lamb behind a shepherd before he even realized what she’d said. When the words finally caught up with him, though, somewhere around the door to his bedroom, he almost toppled backwards down the stairs. 

“Belle,” he squawked, “do you… do you realize what you’re asking? Do you understand… do you even know what it is you want to do?”

As soon as the words had left his mouth, he knew he’d made a terrible mistake. His Belle was an intelligent woman, both before and after their lessons, and he should be pitched down the stairs indeed for daring to insult her that way. But, just as she was wont to do, she surprised him by giving him a look that was more grateful than it was offended. 

“I do,” she whispered. “But thank you. For not assuming that I’ve done this before, I mean. I haven’t, for the record, but most rich men who’ve seen me on the streets –”

He cut her off with another kiss, more chaste than the last they’d shared, before she could finish her thought. Those men didn’t belong here, not in her thoughts, not anywhere near her. The bit he’d read in her diary the night after the races was more than enough proof of that. And though he himself wasn’t anything to be proud of, at least he wouldn’t use her. 

“I’d never think anything of the sort,” he mumbled into her upper lip, caressing the gentle skin there with his tongue. “You’re much too innocent. I forget sometimes that you know… well, that you know as much about the world as you do.”

Unable to help himself, he licked the tips of her pearly teeth. She fell into him with her whole upper body, moaning deep in her throat as went. He held her upright even as he fell like collapsing himself – perhaps “innocent” hadn’t been the right word after all; the thoughts she’d planted in his mind were nothing but sinful. 

“I’m not quite as naïve as you think I am,” she whispered, even as she timidly molded her mouth around his bottom lip. The bright blush on her cheeks – almost entirely natural now instead of being created by makeup – was entirely captivating. “I… I know… about the other things that married people do. But I… I would like it if…”

When she didn’t immediately finish, Gold brushed back her hair and kissed her temple. “Yes, Belle?”

She shivered again, but at least she nodded. She took a deep breath, stared hard into his eyes, and continued, “I’d like it if you could show me. I’d like it if… if we could have our wedding night tonight.”

Gold went still as a statue. Now he knew that he was hearing things. Her declaration of love, her bright kisses, were both wholly unbelievable in and of themselves, but for her to suggest this? He was dreaming.

“You can’t mean that,” he rasped, flinching at just how hoarse his voice had become. “You wouldn’t want me to ruin you.” 

She tugged her hand out of his hair and gave him a sharp flick on the ear. It was hardly enough to be painful, especially with her grinning at him as indulgently as she was, but it did convince him that what was happening was real. His blood flowed south at the mere thought of it.

“You won’t ruin me, you silly man,” she drawled. “I don’t see anything wrong with us going to bed together now that we’re engaged.”

He didn’t miss the brilliantly happy smile that graced her lips on the last word, and, though most of the blood had already left his head, he couldn’t help but smile himself – she was apparently just as thrilled as he was that they were to be man and wife.

Belle sidled ever closer, and pressed the softest kiss he could ever remember receiving onto his cheek. “I want you to make love to me, professor.”

Her words alone were almost enough to make him cum in his pants like a foolish boy. The idea of touching her, though, of finally seeing every inch of his precious pupil, made him feel like a man. And it had been too long since he’d felt like either of those, for better or worse. 

He took her mouth away from his with his index finger under her chin. It was difficult to not just give in and kiss her senseless in the hall, but, as he’d already said, he knew she deserved much better. With shaking hands, he pressed down the handle of his bedroom door, and gestured for her to enter.

“Aye,” he finally answered. “I think I can do that.”

Belle smiled at him nervously, taking his hand as she had before and spinning them both into the room. He followed happily, vaguely noticing that Mrs. Nolan had already lit the lamps for him, but the majority of his focus stayed on the brilliant woman before him. He watched almost self-consciously as she took in his sparse furniture, closed curtains, and canopied bed. Very much the room of an old bachelor. But then she turned again to him and brought their lips together, and he remembered with a twitch of his groin that it wouldn’t be a bachelor’s room for much longer. 

“Are you worried?” she asked around his mouth. “You’re shaking.”

It took him a moment to answer, stunned by her decision to put her own tongue in his mouth, but he finally managed to rein in the rest of his sanity. He caressed the top of her head, smoothing her hair past the pins and combs, and tilted his head to the side for better access. “Not a bit, love. Just… very excited.”

She giggled into his mouth, and he couldn’t keep his own smile at bay any longer. He knew his cheeks would hurt in the morning, unused to the sensation as he was, but he never doubted that it would be worth it.

“Good,” she laughed. “So am I. Although, I must say that it’s still hard for me to imagine you being ‘excited’.” 

“Cheeky thing,” he chastised, flicking her nose playfully as she continued to laugh. For a second, he worried that her laughter might be a reaction of nerves, but the look in her eyes told him otherwise. 

Belle danced away from him clumsily, tripping on her heeled slippers on her way back, but the grin never left her face. He watched, transfixed, as she peeled the delicate things off her feet and threw open his velvet curtains. The moonlight caressed every sparkle on her gorgeous dress, and, just as he’d known it would, made her look like she was drowning in gold instead of lilac. The implications of that made his head spin. 

Her hands lowered carefully to the bands at the small of her back, the only thing keeping her from him at his point. “I’ll need help,” she muttered shyly over her shoulder. “It took both Abigail and Ruby to lace me into it. I don’t think I can take it off on my own.”

He shut his eyes, forcing himself to embed her words to memory, and slowly stumbled to her side. He feared that, if he moved to fast, he’d wake himself from this lovely dream. Or, worse, scare her by tripping on the long train of her gown. 

Gold kissed the bare skin of her neck, and pulled her flush against him so he could better see the ties. “Brace your arms on the window, love.”

Shaking, she did as he bade, pressing her firm little arse directly against his crotch. He took a deep breath to calm himself, knowing that this would be over before it began if he didn’t, and took the strings in his hands. 

For one of the first times in his life, he was immensely thankful the years he’d spent having to sew his own clothes. If he hadn’t had that experience, he might’ve been distraught by the difficult knots and patterns at the back of her dress, but his hands, old as they were, remembered quickly enough how to untie them with ease. He blamed Belle’s own nerves on the fact that she didn’t question him about it, curious as she usually was, but his thoughts scattered to the wind when he final reached the bottom of the panel. 

Softly, carefully as could be, he pushed the glittering fabric from her shoulders. Belle took the initiative to slide the sleeves from her own arms, but, once done, she returned them to the window pane. He hardened to see her laid out so fearlessly before him, and it only got worse when he realized that his window reflected the hefty curve of her bosom. He dropped his eyes to the real her, worried that he’d be too distracted by her reflection, and eased the rest of her gown and pantaloons down her thighs. The cool air hit her skin, and she backed against him like a ballast, even as she nudged the fabric away with her feet. One arm finally left the window to cover the place between her thighs, even though he couldn’t see it from this angle, but the thought left him trembling. And the picture she presented for him didn’t help things.

The skin of her bare back was pale and perfect just like the rest of her, but it was incredibly more erotic for having been hidden from him. Hesitantly, he reached out and traced the curve of her spine with his finger. Gooseflesh arose at his touch, and he felt the whimper rise in her chest just as well as he could hear it. He’d never felt so uncomfortably constrained by his pants than he did in this moment. 

“You’re lovely, Belle,” he praised, dropping his lips to her shoulder and giving it a reverent kiss. He moved his mouth from one end of her shoulder-blade to the other, rubbing his hands over her nude skin all the while. He was careful not to look over her shoulder, much as he wanted to, in fear of going off before he’d even had the chance to remove his own clothes. But he did let his palms stray to the generous curve of her arse, when he felt bold enough, and squeezed at the thick flesh of each cheek. Belle yelped and spun around his arms, immediately latching her lips onto his again for a kiss that made him see stars. 

He couldn’t wait any longer. Couldn’t wait, and knew that his darling Belle felt the same. Gold held onto her arse again and backed them onto the mattress just behind her. They fell in a graceless heap, but he couldn’t bring himself to care when she was laid out completely naked underneath him and his cock was nestled so closely to the heat between her thighs. He ripped his mouth from hers with a groan, intent on seeing the new skin he’d revealed, but Belle tugged him back down to cover herself up. Gold whimpered and tried once more to lift his head.

“Let me look at you, sweetheart,” he begged. “Please. I just want to see you.”

She trembled in his arms, and, slowly, shook her head no. He thought that a part of him might die, knowing that she truly didn’t want to be seen by him. But then she moved her lips up to his ear, and said ever so timidly,

“I will, after… after you let me see you, too.”

He went still overtop her. She wanted to see him – him, a man just as old as her father – without his familiar suits and jackets. She wanted to see him as bare as she was. 

How had he not realized that that would be necessary if this night was to continue as she wanted?

“I’m… not much to look at,” he murmured. “Not at all like you, dearie.”

She threaded her fingers through his hair again, ticking the base of his scalp, and he knew that she had to feel him now. He might be as old as her father, but some things worked just as well as they had when he was in his twenties. At least, he hoped they worked just as well as they had in his twenties. 

“Let me be the judge of that,” she argued softly. “Please.”

His eyelids fluttered shut – of course she had to throw his “please” back in his face. He almost longed for the days when he could tell her “no”, except that he also knew such days had never really existed. Since the minute she marched into his foyer, he was clay in her hands. 

“Alright,” he huffed. He tried again to prop himself off her body, but she pulled him tight to her once more. His eyes rolled back in his head, but he forced himself not to give in to her warmth. “Belle, I have to get up if you want to see me.”

She blanched at that, but at least she nodded, however warily. “O-okay. Just… look away for a second.”

Gold groaned but closed his eyes all the same. Belle wriggled out from under him almost immediately, tugging the sheets out from their carefully tucked corners. She coughed to let him know she was finished. His mouth went dry at the sight – somehow, seeing her half-draped in his silk sheets was even more erotic than knowing that she was bare beneath his body. 

With a sigh, he trundled himself to his feet and brought his hands to his tie. He avoided her gaze as he untied the knot and let it slip from his fingers, falling to the floor with his once again discarded cane. Still, the heat of her eyes burned holes in his head, and it took every ounce of his willpower to ignore it as he continued to methodically remove his own suit.

His fingers felt numb when, at last, the only thing between him and her gaze were his suit pants. He almost kept them on, set on just unbutton himself when the time came and doing things that way, but he knew that Belle wouldn’t appreciate the gesture. So, shaking down to his now bared feet, he pulled on the fastenings and let his trousers fall to the floor.

He tried to ignore her small intake of breath, taking the time to look at himself and take inventory. His chest was as lean as always, his belly perhaps a little rounder then he remembered but otherwise just the same as ever. His ankle was swollen from all the time he’d spent on his feet in the last few hours, but it didn’t hurt any more than normal and was easy enough to ignore. Especially when he knew that none of those things were what Belle was looking at. 

His hands twitched at his sides, wanting desperately to cover up his achingly rigid cock but unable to really move in his fear. It’d been years since he’d let anyone see him like this. It’d been years since he’d let anyone touch him like this. Ten years at least, if he wasn’t much mistaken – that was the last time he’d let Cora get her hooks into him. And that had been an unmitigated disaster. What if he no longer measured up? What if Belle was right, that she wasn’t as naïve as he thought and had seen other men in such a state before? What if -?

“You… you look wonderful, professor,” she interrupted. 

His eyes snapped open in shock. “What?” 

Belle smiled, and propped herself up on one elbow. Sometime during the removal of his clothes, she’d taken the pins from her, and it now cascaded in rivulets down her covered breasts. His breath caught. 

“I said that you look wonderful,” she repeated, moving her eyes from his bony ankles to his warm cock to his gaping mouth. It was only her own shock, her own worry, that made him calm down. “You can see me now… if you want.”

He nodded vigorously before she could take the offer back. Her grin widened at his obvious enthusiasm, and he felt like a king.

Slowly, more slowly even than he’d stripped himself, she removed the sheets from her body. The long sweep of her neck went first, then the bountiful mounds above her heart, nipples pebbled to a bright red and looking more delicious than anything he’d ever seen in his life. He let his eyes wander with her hand, though, tracing the motion past her smooth stomach, her lush hips, and, finally, the ample flesh of her thighs. He moaned at her thatch of brown curls, the strands that caught copper in the moonlight, and he knew that he had to be twitching obscenely between his own thighs. 

He sat beside her on the bed, careful not to get too close lest he spook her, and put his hand on the empty space between them. “Can I touch?” he asked hopefully.

Belle shivered on the mattress, but she still nodded in assent. He sighed in relief, and, quicker than even he thought possible, draped himself over her body and brought his lips to hers once again. She matched him tongue for tongue this time, caressing every inch of his mouth and begging for more with the quiet hums at the back of her throat. He pulsated, but kept his focus on kissing her even so. 

Eventually, he felt strong enough to move his lips down her throat, sucking her powdered flesh between his teeth hard enough to leave a mark. She moaned against him, and he had to use his left hand to prop himself up before he fell over with ecstasy. His right hand, meanwhile, went to her hip, longing for the curls beside them but content to touch just bare flesh for now. 

But his mouth wasn’t content to stay near her head. The reflection in the window was nothing to the actual vision of her full breasts, bare and mouth-watering and begging for his kisses.

He bent his head and took one of the sweet nipples into his lips, suckling her like a babe would its mother. Belle moaned high in her chest at the feeling, and he couldn’t keep back his smirk of delight – he was pleasing her. 

He nipped the supple flesh in thanks, and Belle’s whole body jerked high into the air, lifting him with her. He groaned around his mouthful of her breast, taking the other into his hand and rubbing the nib between his knuckles.

“Too – too much!” she hissed. “I need… I need you.” 

His head swam. No woman, not in his entire life, had ever asked for him so ardently. But Belle did. He could die now and be quite happy, he thought.

“Al-alright,” he stuttered. “Just… just let me make sure.” 

She opened her mouth to say something, but he saw her confusion too late – his other hand had already moved back to its place at her hip, and then to the opening between her legs. He cursed into her hair and bucked against the bed: she was already slick, dripping wet onto his middle finger, and his eyes all but rolled back into his head. 

“What are you doing?” she asked breathlessly. 

He pulled back from her face to look in her eyes, his own slightly crinkled and bewildered. “You really don’t know anything about this, do you?”

Gold knew instantly that he’d said the wrong thing. The way her thighs stilled, her breath hushed, and her eyes dropped all spoke of a mistake he didn’t know he’d made. He cursed himself, and, though the very last thing he wanted to do was stop touching her, he removed his finger from her wet folds and wiped it hastily on the bedsheets. It was with immense relief, then, that, when he held his arms open, Belle instantly moved to his side of the bed. In an instant, she was curled up in his lap, blushing furiously and covering her face in his neck to try to hide it. 

“I’m sorry.”

—————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————

Gold jerked away from her as if he’d been scalded, and Belle buried her face against her own chest to hide her embarrassment. She should’ve realized that his comment about her innocence was a politely worded complaint, not an actual compliment. 

“Belle,” he murmured, and she met his eyes without thinking about it. Her form shook at the intensity of his gaze, the scrape of his callused fingertips against her bare skin, but she found that she couldn’t look away no matter how much she wanted to. “Belle, what are you sorry for? I’m the one who should be apologizing. If I hurt you –”

Belle snapped her head to the side in abject confusion. “Hurt me?” she asked bewildered. “You didn’t hurt me.”

She saw her own confusion mirrored in his eyes. “Then what’s wrong, sweetheart? What did I do?”

If she was confused before, Belle didn’t know what on earth her emotions were now. “You did nothing wrong. I don’t understand, I… I upset you because I don’t know what I’m doing.”

The lines about his mouth vanished in an instant.

“No, Belle… Izzy…” His eyebrows furrowed. “What do you want me to call you, dearie?”

She almost laughed – of course he wouldn’t ask that until now. “I prefer Belle. That’s what you and I decided on. Izzy was just what dad always called me.”

“Belle, then,” he whispered, his tongue caressing every single letter of her name. She could almost hear his Scottish brogue edging through.

“Should I keep calling you ‘professor’?”

The movement of his flesh beneath her thigh was enough to let her know that he liked the idea, but he shook his head all the same. “Richard. Just… just Richard.”

“Richard,” she whispered back to him. She couldn’t miss the way he shook at hearing his name on her lips.

“As I was saying, then,” he coughed, his voice deeper than she’d ever heard it before. “Belle, I didn’t mean to mock you. In fact, I’m honored. I’ve never been with a woman who was so innocent.” He grinned lustily at her, pressing a quick kiss to her mouth. “Just another thing I get to teach you.”

She opened her mouth to reply to his cheek, but he took that as incentive to slide his tongue over hers once more. She fell like jelly into his arms, trying her hardest to keep up, but her teeth kept getting in the way. She wondered if she’d ever be able to catch up with him, or if all their kisses would be one-sided affairs like in the library.

It was even more bothersome that she couldn’t find it in herself to mind. 

“Are… are you ready to go on, Belle?” he asked around her upper lip.

Even though this whole affair had been her idea, Belle almost said no. It had finally caught up to her what she was about to give away, what she was about to do with the man that she loved. And she was afraid. 

But, more than that, she wanted to feel his body on hers once again. 

She twitched her head to the side and, before she could change her mind, gave him a nod of assent. It was time for her to try being brave. “I’m ready.”

He smiled at her more gratefully than he had all night, but it quickly disappeared as he pressed his lips around her nipple. 

“Lay back, love,” he prodded gently. She complied almost immediately, and he helped her move until they were both atop the pillows at the head of the bed. His lips still sucked on her breast, occasionally moving down to graze the underside with his tongue, but he somehow managed to speak around his mouthful.

“When I touched you,” he said tremulously, “I was trying to make sure you were ready for… for the rest. You’ve never done this before, and there’s going to be some pain, but, if you’re wet…” He shivered at his own words, his eyes drooping heavily, and Belle didn’t think she’d ever seen him so handsome or needful in the two months since she’d realized she was in love with him. “If you’re wet, then it will feel better for you.”

His hand skirted down her side again, almost tickling her, but she couldn’t give into the sensation when she knew what he was up to. 

“Can I try again, Belle? I just want to make sure,” he pleaded. “I don’t want to hurt you.” 

She leant down to kiss his soft hair. “You could never hurt me,” she disagreed.

“Still… can I please check? I promise I won’t be long.” 

She wanted to say “no” again, she dearly did, but the want in his voice was too plain to allow it. He needed this. And that was enough reason for her to whisper, “Yes.”

He hummed in relief, and then his hand was on her mound yet again. He rubbed through the wetness that had flooded her thighs, into the curls that covered her flesh, and she thought she heard him swear under his breath in wonder. She knew how he felt – she didn’t think anything could feel so good. And then he plunged his finger inside her. She clamped down on her teeth to keep from squeaking.

“Belle?”

“What… what is it?” she whimpered, biting her lip to keep from making any other embarrassing noises.  
Gold… Richard, she corrected herself, kissed her nose at that, an indescribably sweet gesture. “I’m just surprised at how quiet you’re being. I’ve never heard you say so little.”

He nudged his thumb forward, wiggled his fingers inside her ever more. It left her blind and shaking. “I’m n-not… not quite up for speaking right now.”

He snorted, but the noise turned into a moan when she wriggled against his wrist. “You don’t have to speak,” he heaved. “But you can make noise.”

She tried to shake her head, to tell him that even she knew such a thing was unladylike, but the moment she opened her mouth, a stuttering mewl left her throat. Even though he’d been the one to suggest it, she almost expected him to glare at her, to berate her like he had when she’d done something wrong in their lessons.

Instead, his eyelids fluttered closed, and he looked more at peace than she’d yet seen him.

“Good,” he sighed. “Love, you don’t have to be ashamed with me.” 

He shoved his hand forward, his fingers curled at just the right spot inside her. She howled this time, unable to keep it back, and bent double until her teeth were wrapped helplessly around the flesh of his shoulder. 

“I need more,” she whimpered. “Please, Richard, please.” 

His hand stilled inside her, as did his very breathing. He tugged her back with a hand on her waist, only stopping when their eyes were dead set on one another. 

“Are you sure?” he asked. 

Belle nodded frantically, and lay herself back on the mattress as proof. She spread her legs to give him more room to remove his hand, and he shuddered from head to toe. Yet, he nodded, and, before she knew it, he was laying overtop of her again. She felt the thick flesh that she’d avoided looking at press against her wetness, and she hissed in pleasure.

“This might hurt a bit, love,” he warned. “Just hold onto me and tell me when it’s alright.”

Belle nodded, too wound up to do much else. His fingers curled into her hair while his thumbs rubbed her temples, cradling her head in the most loving way possible. 

“Alright. Eyes on me, Belle. Keep your eyes on me.”

She did as he bade. Couldn’t bring herself to do anything but. Even when he breached her folds, even when he spread her legs with his knee, and a bloom of pain welled deep in her womb. He saw every emotion, watched her fixatedly as she went through them, and only removed his shaking body when he saw her expression calm. It only lasted a moment, though, before he slammed back into position, and Belle thought for a moment that she could see stars.

“Is this alright?” he whimpered, even as he pulled out before shunting back into her, filling her so entirely that she had to open her legs even wider to take him all in. “Am I going too hard?”

She shook her head no, unable to speak even though she dearly wanted to. There was still pain, still a harsh ache in the curve between her thighs, but that didn’t outrank the utter ecstasy she felt underneath. She hadn’t realized that part of her body was missing. She never would’ve guessed that it was part of her professor. Her Richard. 

“Keep… going,” she breathed, lifting her trembling hands to his scalp so she could caress his silky hair. “Feels incredible.” 

He moaned, and, the next thing she knew, her knees were gripped around his hips as he thrust into her. She shouted, not caring at all that people might here her, and dug her nails into his back.

“Better than incredible,” he hissed, pumping her hard and thick and wondrously slow. But she still wasn’t satisfied. She couldn’t understand why that was until he murmured, “My darling Belle,” without a single trace of his real Scottish brogue.

“L-let go,” she stuttered, lifting her hand to trace the silky hairs from his eyes. The touch of her fingertips on his skin made him falter, and she didn’t know she could feel so loved just by seeing him shiver and close his eyes. “I… I want to hear you. The real you.”

“Oh, fuck,” he growled, and if that sentiment wasn’t enough, the sound of his real accent had Belle curling her toes in ecstasy. “Yer gon – gonnae kill me talkin’ like that, sweetheart.” 

“Don’t,” she begged. “Need you too much.”

He hissed and bucked ever harder, his eyes filled with wonder as he looked into hers. “Wanna hear you too, Belle.” 

She shook her head, a difficult task when he was still cradling it in his palms. “Can’t. I’ve forgotten how.”

She knew that he wanted to say something, could tell by the curve of his mouth, but she was distracted by the brush of his skin against hers. He’d hit something at the tip of her mound, something she didn’t even know existed, and her whole body buckled.

“Rich-Richard!” she yowled. “Feel… something!” 

He cursed into his ear, and held her bent knees closer as he thrust faster and faster, grazing the bit of flesh with every motion. Something was happening in her lower body, something that she neither understood nor wanted to, but it was the most amazing sensation she’d ever had. 

And then it exploded.

She knew that she had to be screaming, knew that she had to be cutting his back as sharply as she was gripping it, but her world was black with ecstasy and she couldn’t bring herself to stop. She heard his voice in her hair, whimpering that she was more beautiful than anything he’d ever seen, how she was perfect and smart and wonderful. She even thought she heard him say he loved her. The first time he had all night. 

When she came too, his eyes were creased with pleasure, and a burst of heat filled her from his body to hers.

He didn’t say anything. He lay overtop her, gasping for breath, eyes dark and wide with surprise as he kissed the knuckles and tips of each of her fingers.

He made to withdraw, but Belle pulled him back, causing a shiver to race down his spine.

“I… I don’t really know, how this works. But could you stay…?” she asked timidly, gesturing to their bodies.

Richard looked even more astonished at that, but he ardently nodded his head, keeping himself sheathed in her as he collapsed boneless at her side. Belle sighed happily and snuggled into him, careful not to press her aching core too tight to his bony hips. 

“Thank you,” she yawned, kissing every inch of his shoulder that she could find. He shivered pleasantly inside her, and her smile grew even wider.

He was too exhausted to be surprised, but Belle knew that he was trying his hardest to be when he lifted his head to see her face. “Whatever for, love?”

She smiled at him and kissed his temple. “For making me yours. I never, never imagined that I would be so lucky.”

Though still panting, he grinned tiredly and kissed the expanse between her breasts before he collapsed again. She stroked his hair like a kitten and wriggled closer, allowing sleep to close her eyes.

“I can’t believe that I’m engaged to the richest man in town. “Me,” she snorted with a heavy dose of irony. “Can you imagine?”

She was rambling now, she knew it, but she couldn’t bring herself to stop. Whatever ecstasy he’d filled her with had fried her brain, and, in the comfort of his arms, she couldn’t keep herself from talking.

“I suppose that’ll make me the richest woman in town, won’t it?”

He stilled overtop her. His shoulders, previously relaxed under her hands, went taut.

“Yes, I… I suppose you will be,” he whispered.

There was something odd in his tone, something that she didn’t quite like. But she was exhausted, and in love, and, for the first time in her life, wholly content. 

She fell into a deep sleep before she could realize he was staring at her.


	14. Chapter 13:  All I Want

Accustomed to Her Face (13/15)  
Title: Chapter 13: All I Want

Rating: PG-13 for some mention of sex

Author’s Note: If last chapter was the one that all of you were waiting for, then this is the one that all of you have been dreading. Sorry. But you know our Rumple - the stupid can’t be taken out of him no matter what verse he’s in :( 

Also, I can’t believe there’s only two chapters left after this one. I mean, there’s gonna be a ficlet-length epilogue for it, but, otherwise, there’s just two more chapters. It’s just mind-boggling. 

Well, enough of my stalling - best let you get to reading before you riot on me, lol. Hope you enjoy!

 

Sunlight streamed heavily into Belle’s face as she cuddled up in the sheets. She smiled, wriggling into her pillow in hopes of chasing the wonderful dream she’d been having. The memories of it were vague, but she knew without a doubt that it was the happiest she’d ever been in her life, awake or asleep. It had something to do with her professor…

Richard.

Belle sleepily blinked open her eyes. She wasn’t in her own rosy comforter, nor her pretty-patterned sheets. No, she was surrounded by rumpled silks and velvets in a canopied bed with a high headboard. She ran her fingers over all of it, remembering how she’d been touched and held and loved. It hadn’t been a dream at all – she’d given herself to Professor Gold. They were engaged.

She knew she had to be grinning like a fool, but she didn’t care, not even when she shifted and felt the ache between her thighs. Indeed, it only made her smile wider.

“Richard,” she yawned happily, reaching for his body under the covers. “I love you.”

He didn’t answer her. Confused, Belle lifted her head and looked up. The other side of the bed was empty. She sighed and rolled into the open space, warmed by the heat his body had left – he hadn’t been gone very long it seemed. 

Still grinning, Belle curled off the mattress, yanking off he sheets to cover her naked body as she did. It almost made her feel indecent, being so uncovered – aside from her baths, she’d never worn anything less than a shift and undergarments in her life. She had a feeling, though (one which sent a shiver down her spine), that Richard wouldn’t mind her nakedness. 

Trembling, she peeled her underthings from her rumpled ballgown on the floor and hastily slipped them on. They’d been warmed by the sun’s rays, too, and she welcomed the heat that enveloped her. It wasn’t quite as good as the warmth of Richard’s body, but it was certainly wonderful in its own way. 

That did not, however, mean she was going to walk around with nothing else on. Happy as she was about last night, she didn’t feel that it was anyone else’s business what she and the professor had gotten up to. At least, what they’d done after his proposal was no one else’s business. 

Thankfully, a tartan robe by the door caught her eye, and, though it was much too large for her, she slid it over the rest of her garments. A faint scent of cinnamon and scotch filled her nose, and her eyelids fluttered shut –having his smell surround her was the best treat she’d had all morning. 

Belle slipped the ties into a knot, and, satisfied, eased outside and tiptoed down the stairs. It might’ve been smart of her to look for slippers, cold as the floors were on her bare feet, but, knowing her, she’d likely have tripped in them for being too big. And, even if she didn’t, they’d make quite a racket slapping on the steps, and that would entirely ruin her intention of snaking up on her fiancé when she found him. 

Low muttering and the chink of glass on glass met her ears as she neared the study. The smile that hadn’t left her face all morning pinched higher, showing her teeth now – she’d know those noises anywhere. 

Quietly as possible, she edged toward the door and peeked around it.

“Oh come on, Gold, you’ll have to do better than that.”

She jerked back instantly, blushing bright pink and praying that Jefferson hadn’t seen her. She hadn’t heard him on her way downstairs, so, hopefully, he hadn’t heard her, either – she’d put on Richard’s robe for modesty, but it was hardly enough for her liking. 

Another clink sounded within the room. Belle crinkled her eyes and leaned forward, still concealed by the doorframe but able to see into the room now. Jefferson was closest, rocking on his feet with his back towards her. She was surprised to see this his fists were clenched, but, now that her shock had dissipated, she realized that the odd tone she’d heard in his voice was anger. Her eyebrows furled – what could he be mad about? 

Careful to not be seen, Belle leaned in another inch, looking into the room for her professor. She found him quickly, honing in on him like a missile. She grinned at him, unable to help it even though she was still worried and, moreover, his back was to her. But then she took in his surroundings, and the smile died – there were empty bottles everywhere on the table behind him. And his hand shook, spilling whiskey everywhere, as he poured himself another drink.

“I told ya the truth, dearie. Not my fault if ya don’t wanna believe it.”

Belle’s eyes widened – he wasn’t just drunk, he was sloshed. That was more than just a little leap from the sobriety he’d been living up to over the last month and a half. She bit her lip, debating whether or not she should barge in and find out what had happened for herself, but, before she could come to a decision, Jefferson started in again.

“‘The truth’?” He snorted, derisive enough to be heard over the sound of him kicking back his chair. “Gold, we all saw how you looked at her last night. We saw how you danced with her. Damn it, man, my room’s beneath yours – I heard you. I’d be quite surprised if the whole house didn’t, actually. Now give it up and tell me what’s going on?”

Richard said nothing, but Belle could still see the nape of his neck burn red. She understood that emotion completely – if she could dig a hole and bury herself in it, she would. What reason did Jefferson – the man she’d known as her best friend for the last three months – have to ask about their private affairs? 

His hand moved to pour himself another drink, and she could see he almost missed his mouth when he went to drink it. “I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re implying,” he slurred. 

“You haven’t?” Jefferson took a step closer, not yet invading his personal space but looking like he very much wanted to. “So all the moaning was just my imagination then?”

Heat pricked the corners of Belle’s cheeks. It hadn’t occurred to her last night to be quiet, overcome by everything as she was. She couldn’t believe that he’d be so cruel as to mock her for it. Confused as she still was, her anger and a sense of betrayal had begun to override it. 

Richard backed away from the table, but he didn’t yet turn to face the other man. He chuckled bitterly.

“Surely you’re not still naïve enough to believe that dalliances have anything to do with love, colonel?”

The comment confused her, but Belle accepted it as a defense of her. Not that she’d suspected otherwise, but she was glad to know that her professor intended to stand up for her. 

Jefferson scoffed. ”Oh, so you made love to her but you don’t actually love her?”

Richard’s fingers twitched on his glass. Belle feared for a moment that he might throw it at the colonel’s face, but he threw it down his own throat instead. He spun around, unsteady on his feet, and gripped his cane to keep from falling. His eyes were completely bloodshot, and his face was almost grey. She thought he looked pained. 

“That’s not what happened,” he muttered. “I merely… I merely bedded her. There was no love about it.”

Belle blanched. Whatever small amount of joy she’d felt at the thought that he was going to defend her vanished on the spot. He… he couldn’t mean that. She’d misheard. He loved her. He did…

Richard snorted, as if responding to her thoughts. Everything about him, from the set of his mouth to the way he tossed back his next shot, looked disgusted. Disgusted, and in agony. She understood perfectly - after all, he’d made her feel the very same way.

The colonel shook, his hands clenched maddeningly at his sides. ”Enough,” he hissed. ”I saw the ring box on the floor this morning. And even if I hadn’t, I was listening in at the door when you proposed. I was going to let you tell us in your own good time and use my spying as a funny anecdote for later, but that hardly seems appropriate now.”

He blinked, a swell of something like panic filling his glassy eyes. But then he was breathing out, and his mask of drunken indifference was back in place, ignorant of the fact that Jefferson and Belle both had caught him.

“Shoulda known you’d be too damned nosy to leave well enough alone,” he huffed. “Fine. You caught us – we’re engaged.”

The colonel cocked his head forward in bewilderment. “I didn’t mishear, then? You aren’t going to try to get out of this with another lie?”

“What’s there to lie about?” he asked. He swished the amber liquid at the bottom of the decanter around, gauging whether it would be enough to fill another shot, then gave it up and swallowed it straight from the bottle. It fell limply onto the table when he was done. “My boy will finally have a decent mother.”

Jefferson wasn’t the only one who looked confused this time, though Belle’s pain and shock still far outweighed her other emotions.

“I’m not very fond of that tone, Gold,” he murmured. “What do you mean by that?”

“I meant what I said – she’s exactly the ticket I’ve been looking for to get Bailey back.”

He stumbled away from the table, moving towards the cabinet for something stronger to drink. 

“It’s come to my attention over the last three months that, rich man or not, it’ll be very difficult to take Bailey back from the States,” he muttered, his voice muffled by the wood doors. “‘A boy needs his mother,’ and all that. Whether we won the bet or not – which, of course, we did – wouldn’t matter. But after I saw how well she tricked Regina and her mother last night, I realized I had a perfect solution – marry Belle. After all the work we’ve put into her, who would doubt that my wife is a proper lady? Wasn’t hard to convince her, what with my money. You’ve seen her father, you know how hungry that family is for wealth.”

Jefferson moved fast as lightning across the room. Gold didn’t even have the chance to blink before the other man’s hands were gripped tight around his cravat, strong enough to lift him off the ground.

“Don’t you dare suggest that you used her,” he growled, his face a hair’s breadth away. “Don’t dare suggest to me that you used her. Nor that she used you. I heard what really happened with my own ears last night. You can’t convince me that what I heard wasn’t love.”

Her heart clenched tight – Jefferson hadn’t been asking about her to prove her a whore at all. He’d been asking to prove that Richard loved her.

Belle blinked to hold back her tears. Nothing had changed between her and the colonel – he was still just as good a friend to her as ever. At least she had that to hold onto.

“And surely you can come up with something better than that poor excuse,” he continued. “I was three steps away from full-blown suicide and locked in a mental institute when you regained custody of Grace for me. I’ve been a single father for years, and all of you’re doing. So give me something better than marrying her for necessity.”

He clutched Jefferson’s hands, but made no move to release himself. “I’ve given you my reasons,” he coughed. “I’ve at least a decade on you in age, dearie, the same rules don’t apply. If you want to keep with your fantasy that there are any feelings between Miss French and I, then that’s your prob –”

“Fantasy?!” Jefferson snarled. “You utter fool, what part of ‘I heard everything last night’ do you not understand? Do you want me to act it out for you, is that it?”

Gold glared at him but said nothing in response. He seemed to be waiting for something, but who knew what it was. The colonel certainly didn’t, at any rate, since he only deepened his own glare and held tighter. 

“She loves you, you daft bastard. Even if she hadn’t said it herself, a deaf man could’ve told you that by the way you were dancing last night. When we were dancing, she never stopped looking for you.”

Gold laughed humorlessly. “Oh was she? Grand, considering she was dancing with a man half my age at the time. Single father, too – very attractive. If only you had my income, she might’ve been staring at you instead.”  
“Is that really what this is about?” Jefferson’s lip curled in disgust. “You honestly think she put up with you for three months just to get to me, then left because you had more money?”

“If the shoe fits.”

The colonel shook him. Again, Gold’s hand strayed towards his cane, but he made no move to stop him. He looked to Belle… he looked like he wanted to be hit. 

“You’ve had too much to drink. Now, you know I’m a confirmed bachelor. You know that Belle loves you. And you love her, too.” 

A strange thing happened to Gold’s eyes, a sudden fluttering as if something was about to break inside him, but they snapped shut before any of it could be let out. “You honestly think I have it in me to love someone? An old demon like me? It seemed I overestimated your intelligence, dearie.”

Jefferson shook him. “Just admit it, Gold! Just admit that you need her too much to her go! If you believed any of this – this – foolishness, you’ve been spouting at me, you’d have had her on the streets last night!”

Jefferson let go and raised his fist at the end as if he intended to punch the professor in the face. He jolted forward, waiting for Richard to take the first strike. But he did absolutely nothing to defend himself. He didn’t grip his cane, or fist his own hands, or even shout. He didn’t even blink. Unless she was seeing things, she would’ve sworn that he actually lifted his chin up to take the blow, and looked satisfied about the idea of being hit. And when Jefferson unclenched his hand and looked down at the other man in shock, she knew she hadn’t imagined it in the least. Her breath left her – he wanted to be punished for talking about her like this. He’d lied about using her. But he honestly believed that she’d been using him.

Her stomach roiled with rage and pity. 

The colonel sighed, and took a step away. “Look. Just… just talk to her. Please. It’s all in your head, Gold, I promise.”

Richard said nothing. He turned around, set his empty glass on the table, and stared blankly at nothing. “We’re done,” he muttered. “Get your things ready to leave – I don’t want to waste any more time when we could be looking for my son.”

The colonel hesitated. His arm moving forward as if he might touch the other man, maybe to tell him that it was all in his head. But when Gold didn’t again move, he sighed and walked away. His steps echoed out the side door.

Belle stood to her feet when he was gone, drawing the robe around her to ward off the cold. She immediately regretted it when her nose was filled with Gold’s scent all over again, but that was just a passing notion. She was numb, unfixably cold, and the man she might have gone to for comfort was at fault. 

Her feet ought to have moved her out the door. 

And yet, she marched towards him instead of away.

This time, it didn’t take her very long to see him. He was just where she’d expected, the last place she would’ve hoped for, diving into the depths of his liquor cabinet in search of something more to drown himself in. She bit her palms with her nails. Two months he’d gone without being drunk, but look at him now, bingeing himself, as if he were the one who’d had his heart ripped out and stomped on. She didn’t think she’d ever been more disgusted with another human being in her life. 

And she couldn’t bring herself to stand any closer to him than the opposite end of the table.

“I told you last night,” she said, so faint, so soft, that she almost feared he wouldn’t hear her. 

But hear her he did. Gold turned about on his heel, fumbling with his glass when he caught sight of her. It fell to the ground, shattered, but he made no move to pick it up. He just stared at her, eyes sunken in and bloodshot, every line about his mouth creased with pain. Then his gaze narrowed furiously, and she knew that he realized she’d been listening in. 

He lifted his hand, surprisingly steady for the amount of alcohol, and pointed towards the door she’d just come from. 

“Go.”

Belle didn’t move. The words hardly registered to her. “I told you I love you,” she murmured, not even bothering with the tears leaking out the corners of her eyes. “A dozen times.”

His gaze didn’t waver, nor did anything else about him. His arm was pointed just as steadfastly at the door, and the rest of his body stood still as a statue. A minute passed like that, a solid minute, before he scoffed and shook his head at her. She couldn’t help but notice, though, that he didn’t look away.

“True, you did,” he muttered. “After I gave you a ring, of course.”

She wanted to come closer, maybe even to smack him, but the very thought of getting that close to him hurt her. Funny, since it had hurt her earlier to not have him in her arms. 

She sniffled. “A ring that meant nothing. I just wanted your love.”

The distaste in his sneer deepened. “And it had nothing to do with… oh, how did you so eloquently put it last night… being made into ‘the richest woman in town’? No, that couldn’t have factored into your sudden burst of affection for me.”

Belle managed with some difficulty not to stagger. She was too stubborn to back down from him, or even look away. She still didn’t have the strength to walk closer. 

She’d never said anything about becoming rich, nor even of his wealth in general. Not at the ball, not before, and certainly not after. What did he…?

Her eyes widened. “You aren’t talking about what I said after we… after, are you?”

Gold tried to play off the way he winced as little more than a nervous tic, but Belle saw. “Too disgusted to call it by its name, I see.”

Bile crowded her throat. “Disgusted?” she hissed. “I was trying to be polite!”

“Well, try being honest next time, dearie.”

Belle snarled. “I was. I never lied to you. I only said what I did because I was tired and happy and I started rambling. Why would you believe that over all the times I said I love you? Richard, please, I love you! And I know you love me, too!”

“That’s a lie.”

Her fingers went limp by her sides, his robe slipping open with nothing to hold it together. The chill was unbearable.

“You… you don’t mean that.”

Gold’s expression might have been a smirk if not for how empty it looked.

“Really, dearie? He almost laughed. “You’ve worked with me for three months now, and you honestly think that I could care about you? Did I ever even tell you that I felt something for you?”

Her mouth opened immediately to argue, but the words died in her throat. She couldn’t remember him saying “I love you”. Not once. She’d have remembered if he had, but no – nothing of the sort existed in her memories. 

His mouth curled in hollow victory. “I don’t want you anymore, dearie. I care more about my power, my prestige, than I do you.” He finally turned away from her, one hand clenched loosely on his cane and the other reaching for the bottle. He downed half of it in a single swallow. “But, as you further my interests, I see no reason to end our… arrangement. The moment we no longer benefit each other, you’re free to leave.” 

Gold lifted his hand to wave her off, and Belle’s blood – not just her skin – froze cold. This was beyond cruel. Cruelty was treating her like she no longer mattered to her. This was pretending that she was of no more importance than an animal. 

Belle held back her sobbing breath and headed for the door. She had nothing left to say to him if he insisted on acting like this. She…

She was acting the fool. She’d gone in with the intention of making him tell the truth, and, instead, she was swept up by his lies. Whatever he said to the contrary, she knew what she’d seen, what’s she’d felt from him, over the past months. He loved her. He was in love with her. 

Her eyes flickered to his slippers in the corner, barely a foot away.

She was done being frozen. 

Her aim had never been excellent, but Belle was rather impressed that she’d managed to overturn the full bottle of scotch on the table. It was a decent enough feat on its own, but she felt she deserved a medal for achieving it with a thin slipper while she was boiling mad.

“There,” she huffed at him under her breath, glorying in the way that he flinched from his second flying shoe and the anger in her voice. 

“Ha-have you gone mad!?” he yelled, his own voice sounding closer to a shriek. 

“No. I’m just tired of listening to your shite.” 

She didn’t fear walking closer to him now, and, even if she did, she would’ve done it anyway. He’d taken all of her will away – it was time she took a little back. 

“You think you can trick me with your barbs, and your cruel mask, and your fancy words. But you can’t. Not anymore.” She took a deep breath, then lifted her eyes until they stared straight into his. It took every ounce of her determination to keep going and not back down. “You’re not afraid that I don’t love you. You’re afraid that I do.”

Gold didn’t move an inch, but she saw the change in the expression on his face. Her broken heart filled itself with grim satisfaction. 

“And you are going to regret this moment, professor.” Her lip wobbled, as did her voice, but she kept talking through the tears. “If you could only accept that I love you, you could’ve freed yourself. We could’ve been happy. You’re an empty man. And all you have left are your precious words.”

She spun on her heel, closing her eyes to the thin line of his mouth and the pain in his eyes. He deserved every bit of it, for taking something so very foolish and deciding it was enough to condemn the both of them. 

Her feet carried her to her room in what felt like the blink of an eye. There was nowhere else for her to go, stuck in this wretched house with that wretched man who decided to ruin both of their lives. She didn’t care to wear his robe any longer, shucking it off violently and kicking it into the corner. Her head itched, as did the back of her neck, and when she ran her fingers through her hair, she felt the pins that they hadn’t managed to remove last night. 

She blamed her rage for the fact that her eyes flew immediately to the fireplace, still crackling with coals from the night before. Her fingers dug at the gold bracelet on her wrist, the dropping earrings by her neck, the remaining pins in her hair. If it wouldn’t leave her bare, she’d toss the robe, too. All of it stung her, weighed her down, and she wanted nothing to do with them anymore. 

She threw her jewelry into the fireplace, satisfied at the sound of the crystals heating. She knew little of diamonds, but she knew they wouldn’t burn. She had nothing to prove to her professor, but, if he wanted any, this was it. This was how much she cared for his precious money.

Belle took hold of her ring, ready to toss it, too. But she couldn’t get it any further than her fingernail. He’d picked this out specifically for her, thinking that his previous wife’s ring wouldn’t mean the same thing. He’d had only her in mind when he left them at the ball to order it from whatever jeweler. Only her, when he slipped it on her hand and begged her to keep saying that she loved him.

She couldn’t do it. Not just the ring, but all of it. He could have a loveless marriage with someone else if he wanted, but she would have no part of it.

She couldn’t stay here any longer. 

The ring slipped easily off her finger this time, now that it was only travelling to the mantelpiece. She loved it, but it wasn’t hers. Nor was anything else in the room. Or most of it, anyway – she’d bought herself only one dress in the three months she’d stayed here, the money provided by Jefferson after a particularly good lesson. She rifled through her closet until she found the yellow thing, and slipped it and the matching shoes on as quickly as she could. The shift underneath was a day old, but she didn’t care to change it – she’d allow herself one memory of the night before. And she’d leave her books, much as it killed her, so that he’d have a memory of her, too.

Her tears hadn’t come back yet, but she could feel them pricking behind her lashes as she marched for the door, leaving the only room that she had ever really called home behind. She’d miss the clean pink walls, the soft carpet that was warm on her feet, the claw-foot tub that kept her clean, the bed that didn’t cut into her back.

She’d miss Richard. 

Turning the handle felt heavier than any basket or stack of books she’d ever carried, but she managed it all the same. No one stopped her as she crept down the stairs, or into the hallway, or into the foyer by the front door. And even if they had, she wouldn’t have stopped. 

Professor Gold had made their bed. Now let him lie in it by himself.


	15. Chapter 14:  Be Like A Man

Accustomed To Her Face (14/15)  
Title: Chapter 14: Be Like A Man

Rating: PG (alas, no smut this chapter - you can blame the stupid professor for that)

Author’s Note: No excuses for the delays or anything of that sort. I’ma just let you jump right into reading. And Stragg, definitely count this as your birthday present, even though I’m sure it doesn’t meet the standards of me previous chapters - you deserve it, lovely. 

Hope you enjoy :D

 

Belle eased the door of Professor Gold’s house shut behind her as she stepped onto the stoop. She didn’t care to make a scene, and if the professor was still in his drawing room, that was exactly what this would turn into. 

Still, she couldn’t keep herself from looking over her shoulder as she walked away down the street. And she damned her pride, damned the professor’s, for making her leave.

But, then, it was her heart, not her vanity, that had made the decision.

The sound of carriage wheels drew her to a halt, and she looked about for Mr. Dove’s huge form, worried that the man had seen her leave. Instead, she saw the ginger man from last night’s ball. She noticed a scrap of red cotton in his pocket, suspiciously the exact same red as Ruby’s handkerchiefs, but that was all she noticed before someone pulled her forcibly into their arms.

“Darling!” he greeted, his voice much too close to her ear for comfort, especially when she recognized it as Mr. Wayne-Booth’s. “You’re outstanding! I’ve heard all about Queen Mary-Marghereta singling you out at the Embassy last night, it’s all anyone can talk about.” 

Belle wriggled out of his grip, grinding her heel on his toe for good measure in the process. It didn’t seem to have mattered, though, since the stupid man was still standing with his arms outstretched and an adoring smile on his face. She huffed and turned away. It took all her power to keep from groaning like a petulant child when she heard August whistle and then the sound of his feet and the carriage as they followed her down the cobblestone road. 

“Are you quite alright, darling? You seem rather irate.”

She didn’t even bother to look back at him. She wasn’t at all in the mood to deal with Mr. Wayne-Booth’s annoyances. “I’m perfectly fine, sir. I can’t imagine why you’d think otherwise.”

August’s sigh of relief hit her neck, and every hair down her nape prickled in response. “Oh good. I was afraid I’d done something to upset you.”

Belle clenched her fists and rounded another corner, all but jogging from the man now. She’d been sorely mistaken to believe that he would take the hint and leave her alone, though. Instead, when she looked around, she saw him perched on the step of his carriage which the driver had ensured was perfectly paced with her. He probably thought he looked dashing, his stubble untrimmed and his latest novel sticking from his pocket. 

The sight only served to disgust her.

“Sir, I don’t wish to spend today in the company of people who don’t give a damn about me. Now if you’d please get out of my way –”

“But darling, I adore you! Miss French, please look at me. Please, sweetheart, I –”

“Enough!” she shouted. “Enough. I’m not ‘darling’, I’m not ‘Miss French’, I’m not… I’m not ‘sweetheart’. Belle is good enough for me.” 

She spun about to look at him, making both him and the carriage squeal to a halt in the face of her anger, and she snorted a laugh. 

“You know, you’re just like him. You play with words like they’re your puppets, like you created them and you have every right to use them against your ‘lessers’. Only you’re worse because you have the audacity to make books of your lies. Well let me tell you, Mr. Wayne-Booth, I’ve had quite enough of it. I’ve had enough of your pandering, of everyone treating me like I’m a coat that can be put up when I’m not needed and then worn when I am. I am a human being. And I’m leaving.” 

Belle darted down the next alley, knowing it would be too small for August’s carriage to fit through. It was its own sort of victory, getting rid of him as well, but whatever joy she’d felt was short lived when she saw the red-haired driver at the end of the street. 

She turned about, ready to head back the way she came if need be, but Mr. Wayne-Booth was already in her path, utterly perplexed, it seemed, that she was still trying to run from him. He reached for her hand, likely in some misguided attempt to hold it, but she snatched her arm back, palm flattened to slap him should he try again. She hadn’t put up with this sort of behavior when she was on the streets, and she wasn’t going to start now that she sounded proper. 

“I already told you once, I won’t…”  
Her voice droned off. August watched her, waiting for her to continue, but she’d already forgotten about him. It wasn’t difficult to begin with, but surrounded by such familiar stone walls, and wooden wagons, and dirty stone streets…

She knew this place. She’d once worked in this place. Surely she hadn’t walked so far already.

She rounded the corner, ignoring August’s confused chattering. Her heels clicked on the familiar stones, her eyes watering with the too-bright light filtered in from the glass windows overhead. Covent Garden was surprisingly quiet for the time of morning, but a few stalls lined the walls. Vegetable carts, odd bits of junk that someone intended to sell as jewelry, new linen sheets, and rows upon rows of flower booths. Belle’s heart clenched.

Without realizing it, she found herself moving closer to the ash-covered women with baskets on their arms. She recognized them all, if not by name then by face, and she smiled as the smoothed down their skirts for her. 

“Flars! Flars fer sale! Flars fer – Izzy!” 

At the sound of her name, so close behind her, she spun around. Her eyes went wide, and she was sure her mouth had opened in shock. She’d know this girl anywhere, often as they worked the same corner together. A basket of tulips swung off her arm, her long blonde hair falling all into it. As always, there were cinders stuck to her shoes. 

Belle grinned. “Ashley.”

The girl’s smile, just as wide as her own, dimmed in an instant. “I’m… I’m sorry, miss. Do I know you?” 

She stepped closer. “What do you mean?” she asked confusedly. “Didn’t you just call me… didn’t you just say…?”

Blush took over Ashley’s cheeks. She shook her head furiously, her eyes low with embarrassment. 

“No, I was just mistaken, miss,” she muttered. “It’s just that… ya look like someone…”

“Who?” Belle asked frantically.

A hand touched Belle’s shoulder, and she jerked about immediately. It was almost a surprise to see August there, just as confused as she’d left him. 

“Darling, do you, uh, know this woman?” he asked curiously, eyeing Ashely like someone might eye a stray cat. Ashely in turn only looked into her basket. 

Belle rolled her answer around on her tongue, hoping for some trace of her old accent. Maybe, if she could speak like she used to, Ashley would be able to remember. 

But she couldn’t bring it back. For all that she’d almost slipped at the ball, and even at the professor’s house after, she’d forgotten how to speak as she once had. Belle was just Belle, the lady Miss French – Izzy no longer existed.

And neither of them belonged anywhere anymore.

“Sorry again fer botherin’ ya, miss,” Ashley apologized, holding her gaze down. The obedience, the fear, were enough to make her eyes water. “Well, would ya like a flar? Nice tulip ta go wi’ yer pretty dress?”  
Belle patted down her dress, hoping to find some loose coin, but, even now, she didn’t have a penny to her name. The only thing that fell out, though, was a small slip of paper. Confused, she unfurled it, even as August stepped in front of her and placed a bundle of coins in Ashley’s bag for a flower. 

Le Repaire du Mégère, Templecombe, Somerset

Mdm. Molly Ficient

“Darling?”

Belle didn’t hear him. Not when the words, “He’ll break your heart, girl. Come see me when he does,” rang in her ears. She didn’t know why it hadn’t occurred to her before. Molly would help her, especially in getting away from the professor and finding a new life for herself. She could see Rose and Mulan again before she left for good. She could make a fresh start – after the past three months, nothing could be too difficult. 

“Darling, what is it?”

She lifted her eyes slowly from the paper. August was still there, standing before her with a gold flower between his fingers. Her heart fluttered stupidly at just seeing the color. That was all she needed to know that this was the right choice for her. 

“Mr. Wayne-Booth, might your driver do me a favor?”

The ginger man on the seat all but jumped at being addressed, but, at a nudge from his employer, quickly nodded his head.  
“Anything, Miss French.”

She placed the card in his glove. “Can you take me to this address?”

——————————————————————————————————————————-

Gold’s cane rattled across the floor, knocking over the three empty wine bottles that had accumulated at his feet. He cursed his clumsiness and tried to stand again on his own, only to promptly fall back on his arse onto the bed. With a groan, he sipped on the shot of scotch that had washed onto his hand, attempting to savor it since it was the last drink he was going to get till he sobered up enough to get his cane.

The glass clinked loudly on the table when he set it down, making him flinch as he rolled away from the noise. It was finally dark outside at least, but that was little consolation when every noise made his stomach churn. 

He yanked the nearest pillow over his head and burrowed under it. There was something soothing about it, a faint scent that he couldn’t place, and he delved into it even deeper. It was like orchids and joy.

His eyes snapped open, watering with betrayal. It smelt of Belle. Every damned inch of it. 

The pillows hit the wall as he chucked them over the edge, sending the sheets and bedspread immediately after them. He buried his head in his hands, knocking it against the hard headboard. How could he ever have believed that she could love him? That she would see him as anything more than easy money, or, at best, just her teacher? He was an evil old man, and she was… she was perfect. 

The idea that she could feel anything more than grudging respect for him was laughable. Especially when there was a much younger, much more attractive gentleman within reach and another waiting on her just outside the front door. While his comment to Jefferson that Belle was actually in love with him had been borne out of spite more than any real belief in the idea, he couldn’t deny that it made more sense than her ever having had feelings for him. 

He slammed his head against the wall again, grimly satisfied when it made his vision blur. 

Worst of all, though, was that he couldn’t even blame her. She’d lived on nothing for so long that the chance of making something of herself must have been a dream come true. He knew that it had been for him, when people began to look at him with reverence instead of disgust. He couldn’t find fault in her for wanting to be seen as someone worthwhile to the world. Even if it broke him that having just him see her as worthwhile obviously wasn’t enough. 

Again, he bashed his head against the headboard and slid down onto the bed. None of it mattered. Even if she’d never love him, even if her heart really did belong to the colonel and her only intention was to bleed him dry of all his funds, he didn’t care. He couldn’t live without her. 

And he was much too weak to try.

He just couldn’t believe that this had happened to him twice, nor that the second time would be twice as agonizing. 

The door slammed against the wall, sending his head to spinning more than hitting it on the wall had done. Still, he could make out Mrs. Nolan very clearly, scowling at the clutter all over his floor and the mess he himself likely made sprawled out on the bed. "I'm not cleaning this up, too," she muttered. "Not after the chaos you left me in the library." "What are you talking about, dearie?" he drawled. Her scowl deepened. "All the broken glass." Gold stared at her blankly, then, with a sudden burst of understanding, nodded. It hadn't just been a drunken vision, it seemed, that he'd smashed all the cabinets in the library to bits after Belle left him. "Professor, are you listening to me?" He snapped his head back up to his disgruntled housekeeper. Apparently she'd still been talking to him. "Yes, what?" “I asked if you've seen Belle,” she repeated sharply. 

Gold snorted bitterly and reached for his shot glass on the table, forgetting for a moment that it was empty. “Obviously not, as this is my room and not hers. I don’t suppose you’ve tried looking for her there?”

Mrs. Nolan’s scowl deepened, and she crossed her arms at him.

“Yes. She isn’t there.”

Gold stilled. His eyes, still hazy with drunkenness, opened wide for the first time all day. “What do you mean ‘she isn’t there’?”

She groaned, looking for all the world as if she’d like to hit him. “I mean exactly what I said, professor. We can’t find her anywhere. Even Ruby and the colonel are beginning to worry.”

He didn’t even wait for her to finish speaking before he was up on his feet, trying his hardest not to trip as he reached down for his cane. If he hadn’t been scared sober, he might’ve been impressed with himself. 

“When was the last time you saw her?” he asked seriously, shucking off his dirtied suit jacket and marching into the hall. It only took a second before his housekeeper’s footsteps followed. 

“Today? Not at all,” she answered, racing down after him. “But the colonel said that you’d seen her early this morning at least, so –”

“The last time I talked with her was just after noon.” Gold pulled out his pocket watch, and wiping his blurry eyes, looked at the time – that had been nearly seven hours ago. “And no one’s seen her since then?”

“Yes, I’ve already said.” Mrs. Nolan wrung her hands, and, with a forwardness that surprised him, gripped his shoulder and asked, “Has something happened between the two of you?”

He almost tripped down the stairs. Belle’s room was just a few feet away now, but, still, he spun about to look at his housekeeper. She was dead serious, it seemed. 

“What do you mean?” he asked cautiously. 

She nervously rubbed at the hem of her apron, but, much to his surprise, she didn’t look away. “I… the colonel. He… told us, last night, to leave the two of you alone. Was there… did something happen, between you and Miss Belle?”

Gold trembled. Did something happen… That was one way to explain how everything had gone all to hell. He readied himself to berate her, to rid himself of her before she pried even more into things that didn’t concern her, but… she looked genuinely worried. And not just for Belle, it seemed. He considered, for a moment, just telling her everything and having her help him sort it all out. 

But it was only a moment. He wasn’t that kind of man. And if Belle – his beautiful, precious woman – couldn’t accept him, what chance did he have that his housekeeper would even listen?

“Tell Mr. Dove to ready a carriage for me downstairs,” he muttered. “And be quick.” 

Mrs. Nolan opened her mouth as if she wanted to say something more, but he’d already left her, heading for Belle’s room at the end of the hall. He hesitated outside her door, thinking foolishly of knocking, before reminding himself what he was doing and just shouldering himself inside. Her bed was still made, the curtains still closed. It felt cold and empty. 

“Belle?” he shouted. 

She didn’t answer. 

Gold took a few more steps inside, searching madly as if she might be hiding in the corners. 

“Belle?”

He didn’t wait for her voice this time, going straight to the bed and kneeling beside it. It was obvious from the doorway that she wasn’t in it, but he looked for himself anyway, going so far as to search under the mattress, too. The only thing he found were a few stray balls of dust. 

He hefted himself up, hissing when his hair caught on something at the foot of her bed. A look to the side showed him her trunk of books, sitting just as resolutely as ever in the place it had always been. His fingers shook as he opened the clasp, anxious as to what he would – or wouldn’t – find inside. 

He felt that his heart might have stopped when he saw all her books, Les Miserables included, stuffed inside. 

She couldn’t have left if her books were still there.

But, then, why hadn’t she answered him?

He hobbled into the bathroom, desperate to find her soaking in the tub or even crying by the window. Just to see her, just to prove that she was there. But the room was empty. He turned back and tried the closet, rifling through every piece of clothing in hope of finding some clue. The only one he found, though, was an empty hanger shoved into the back. 

His pulse quickened. 

He turned back to her room, staring angrily at the full trunk of books beside her bed. She wouldn’t have left them. She wouldn’t have left them there and gone away, not without telling them, not without holding them again. She couldn’t have left him. 

He reached for the mantle, needing something to steady him, but only managed to send something clinking to the floor. He cursed under his breath and leaned down to pick whatever it was up. She wouldn’t appreciate him ruining her things while she was gone, he was sure of it. When she came back, she’d have a fit that he invaded her space without asking, when she came back –

His insane rambling screeched to a stop. It was her ring. The ring he’d picked out especially for her. He cradled it in his hand, wishing for just some trace of her warmth on it, before he saw the rest of the mess in the fireplace. There were more rings in there, the ones she’d worn in her ears. And her necklace, and bracelets, and all the diamond hairpins she’d been wearing at the ball. She hadn’t taken any of them with her. 

Dimly, he rifled through his pants pocket for his coin purse. The money he kept there – scant as it was compared to what he kept in the bank – hadn’t been touched. Every cent was accounted for. 

She’d left. Left, and left him with everything of worth she could’ve stolen. 

He leaned back against the wall, clutching desperately at the floor lest he never be able to stand back up. Belle had done this on purpose, he could tell. There was no reason for her to have left her books, her only beloved possessions, but she’d let him keep his money to prove a point. She couldn’t believe that he’d chase after her – if so, it would’ve been plausible for him to think that she was only biding her time for a bigger paycheck. And even then, she could’ve taken something as a down-payment.

She might have actually loved him. Might have, if there truly was a God and he hadn’t just daydreamed last night into existence. But whatever chance there might have been of that had been well and truly blown with how he’d talked to her.

God, he’d been a fool. 

It took all his focus not to fall back on his arse, but he wasn’t about to sit and lick his wounds when Belle was out there and alone. He wasn’t a good man, had proved it time and time again, but he’d die before he let her escape his protection. Before he’d let her get hurt. 

His head ached, as did his ankle, but he raced down the last flight of stairs all the same, praying that Mrs. Nolan had taken his words to heart and had actually called Mr. Dove for him. He had to assume she had since she was nowhere to be found in the hall, and that Dove’s gloves were missing from the coat rack. 

The only person to be seen was Jefferson. 

“There you are,” the younger man growled at him, straightening his ridiculous hat as he dialed the rotary on the wall.

Gold glared back, even as he skimmed through the jackets on the wall. “What are you doing?” 

“Calling Sherriff Humbert. You’re obviously not going to be of any help, so I thought I should call him to help us find Belle.” 

The words were barely out of his mouth before Gold’s hand darted out and slammed the receiver back into place. “Don’t bother,” he interrupted, shrugging into a coat that didn’t smell of whiskey and heading for the door. “The sheriff’s in Regina’s pocket. If she gets word of this, we’re ruined.”

The colonel slammed his hand against the wall. “Then what do you suggest we do? She could be anywhere, I won’t sit back and see her hurt just because you’re angry with her.”

Gold glared. “Good thing that that’s not what I’m asking you to do, then, isn’t it?” He opened the door, and, before anyone could begin to argue with him, shot back over his shoulder, “I’m going to Molly’s.”

He’d expected Jefferson to leave well enough alone, but, obviously, that was too much to hope for. The younger man ripped the cane from his hands before he could so much as step onto the stoop, and turned him about by the lapel of his coat. 

“Why in God’s name are you doing that?”

Gold peeled Colonel Hatter’s hands off him and stared him down until he finally returned his cane. It bothered him less than it should have that the man didn’t actually look the least bit afraid of him. 

“I’m going to find Belle myself.” 

Jefferson’s eyes went wide. “You… what?”

He turned away and looked into the street, glad to see that Dove was already waiting for him. He climbed into the carriage without hesitation, leaving Jefferson bewildered on the front step. 

“Molly has enough sources all over the country that she could give you and Regina both a run for your money,” he called out. “If anyone can find Belle, she can.”

And if she couldn’t…

He shook his head and slammed the door behind him, flagging Dove with a tap of his fingers until the carriage rolled away. The thought didn’t bear continuing. He was bringing Belle home. 

There was no other alternative for him.


	16. Chapter 15:  Without You

Accustomed (15/15)  
Title: Chapter 15: Without You

Rating: PG-13

Author’s Note: Here we are guys. This is it - the final chapter. The last ever installment of my very first fanfiction. Thank you, every one of you, for sticking with this story so far, and encouraging me to get back into writing when it seemed I never would. I’ve finally gotten back the inspiration to work on my original stuff, and, difficult as it is, I’m slowly pushing through it. So thank you. And I hope you enjoy this very last chapter…

 

Gold was nauseous. He thought he’d be used to the sensation, much as he used to drink before. But, then, this time around had very little to do with alcohol, even if he had imbibed his weight in it within the past twelve hours. For one, the ride to Molly’s was a good six hours – one of many reasons they only saw each other at social events – and while the bumpy roads were already giving him a headache that would make his hangover come morning balk in comparison, he knew that whatever Molly had in store for him would be twice as bad. 

How could it not be, once he told her what he’d done?

He hung his head in his lap, massaging his temples and fighting back the urge to vomit. That, of course, was the real reason he was sick, whatever he might try to convince himself. He’d been a fool twice over, once for being cruel to his Belle, and again for taking her love for granted. He should have kept to his plan, should’ve proposed to her while they were dancing instead of making her wait in fear that she’d been found out. He should have held her, and not let go. Because for all that he had been damnably wrong, he was right in one thing – Belle could never, never, love him eternally. He’d been imbecilic to think that she would ever use him, but it would be just as idiotic to take her kindness for granted. Even had he treated her well, stayed by her side rather than drinking himself into a wounded stupor, she would always be too good, too perfect, for him, and it was only a matter of time before she realized it, too. To think otherwise would be an exercise in masochism. 

He damned his pride for not even allowing him the grace to come up with a proper apology for her. But, then, there really was so much for him to apologize for. His only plan now was to re-offer her a loveless marriage to him or a potential job staying on as Bailey’s nanny if she couldn’t bear the thought. She would have a steady income, wouldn’t have to move out. And he would never be without her again. Without her smile, or her laughter, or her ability to see so plainly through him.

Bailey would love her. 

Shaking, he covered his wet eyes with his hands and drew himself close. 

“God, what have I done?”

Tap tap. 

“Here, sir.” 

Gold hastily sniffed back his tears and wiped his eyes. He’d already lost Belle; the least he could do now was preserve his dignity. 

He straightened his tie, took a deep breath, and let himself out of the carriage, surprisingly steady on his feet once he stepped down. He nodded at Mr. Dove, all the indication the giant of a man needed to know he was to wait for him at the front. The moment Molly got a lead on where his… where Belle, might be, he wanted to be off the property and headed off to find her.

With a sigh, he marched up the path, nervously clutching at his cane as he went. His free hand was all but shaking, palm clammy with the cold sweat of hangover and regret, when he gripped the silver knocker on the front door. He slammed it down twice, hard, the sound echoing off the pillars surrounding the veranda, and waited. A full minute (he knew, because he counted) passed, and, with a huff, he tried vainly to look through the peephole. He saw nothing. Irate, he rapped again, waited again, but there wasn’t so much as a squeak behind the door. Gold glared – he wasn’t in the mood to put forth any more patience. Decorum be damned, he was finding Belle.

Bracing himself on his cane, he shoved at the door with his shoulder, banging it open loudly enough that the sound echoed through the hall. The entire corridor was dark and silent, and Gold began to worry that Molly wasn’t home at all. There were certainly no servants to be seen, not even Belle’s old flatmates. The thought briefly struck a chord with him, and he made a mental note that, should Molly’s various contacts fail to find her, Belle’s friends might be able to help.

Ignoring the empty hall, Gold trundled down the hall and up the spiral staircase at the end. 

“Molly?” he called, bumping his cane loudly against the bannister for extra emphasis.

As at the door, no one answered, but the moment he reached the top of the steps, he was assaulted by a thick, peppery scent. He coughed but kept going, careful to avoid the plants beside he door. He always forgot why he avoided Molly’s drawing room until he reentered it. Rather than the floral wonderland that most ladies kept, Molly’s more closely resembled a labyrinthine death trap, filled to the brim with large, thorny plants that only a very sharp blade or axe could hack through. 

“Molly?” he shouted again. 

The plants waved mockingly. 

Gold growled, his hand clutching his cane tight as he rose it above his head. Before he could do anything more, though, a lamp at the far side of the room – almost invisible behind the vines – snapped on. He spun back wildly, almost tripping in his haste, just as Molly waltzed in.

It was clear the moment she saw him, his cane still raised to smite something in his anger. She looked almost comical, eyes wide, hair up in rollers, and her foot dangling over the black cat that had come in with her. He even though he saw a trace of worry. But quick as ever, she adjusted her expression, morphing it back into the disinterested poise he was used to. 

“Richard,” she drawled. “What a horrid surprise.”

She rose her eyebrow, looking at something just over him, and he realized that he was still holding his cane. Mollified, he settled it back at his side, and she nodded before settling herself on the settee in the midst of the thorns. 

“What brings you here unannounced at…” she glanced at the wall clock, “… one in the morning?”

Gold’s eyes creased then darted themselves to the clock. It appeared she was right – the hands were just past the one and the twelve. Well, at least that explained where Molly servants were.

He brushed the thought away and looked back to Molly. 

“It’s Belle,” he answered frantically. “I was hoping you could help me. I… I’ve lost her.” 

Molly snorted scathingly and drew her cat up to her shoulder. “You lose hats, Richard, not women. Women run away.” 

Gold snapped to face her. The words were like a switch, changing his demeanor at once from anxious to angry. He didn’t need reminding that Belle would rather face the world alone than stay with a monster like him.

His cane slammed loudly into the floor, loud enough that Molly’s cat hissed and arched its back. 

“I need her back now, Molly!”

Her taloned nails curled menacingly around her wineglass, her lips pursed thin as he’d ever seen them. With a subtle jab, she moved his cane away, never spilling a drop of her chardonnay, and he braced his feet on the floor in preparation for a fight. Even if he was to exit this room bleeding and further crippled by her hand, he was finding Belle. 

Molly opened her mouth, a scathing retort dripping off the end of her tongue, no doubt, but before she could speak, a flurry of laughter and female voices interrupted them. He glared warningly at her before turning about, irritated with the intrusion. The irritation only worsened when he heard plainly the first of the voices. Another Lisson Grove accent. The thought sent a sharp pang through his chest, and if it were possible for him to feel more pathetic, that would have done so. 

“…I’ve packed you some oh-day-twol-ette,” she said, “Madame says all the French women wear it. I wrapped up in a real nice scarf fer ya.”

“Oh, and couple tins of Earl Grey, too,” a second voice – this one obviously Chinese with only the vaguest Australian inflection – added. “I know you don’t much like wine, so that should last you until you find a decent tea shop.”

A third woman chuckled, and Gold’s blood ran cold. He knew that laugh. He knew that voice. 

“Thank you both, so much,” she laughed, and Gold turned towards the noise like a weed might turn towards the sun. “I’d never have been able to do this without you and Madame Ficient.”

He stood frozen like a statue as the trio of women walked in, one he’d never seen before, one he recognized from the Races… and Belle, gorgeous in a yellow gown and matching hat. He’d almost forgotten, over the past day, what it was like to see her smile. How beautiful she was.

They stopped in the doorway, the Chinese maid and the other hugging Belle between them. 

“Izzy, are you sure you want to do this?”

The use of her old name almost stunned him, but he still couldn’t find it in himself to move as he watched her nod, her pretty brown curls bobbing with her beneath the hat. 

“Yes,” she answered fervently. “I don’t want to be away from you, truly. But I can’t stand to stay here any longer with –”

Belle turned, giving him his first glimpse in two days of her bright blue eyes, and then fell just as silent as him. His mouth was dry, his heart beating erratically, and he knew his knuckles had to be ghostly white around his cane as hard as he was clenching them. He’d missed her eyes, and he’d forgotten, in his excitement, that she’d be looking at him with such pain. It was like he’d been gutted. 

Yet he couldn’t look from her even if he tried. For now – forever, he feared – nothing else mattered but her. It didn’t even occur to him that her old flatmates were glaring at him – Belle was staring at him as if she might burst into tears at any moment, and any offer of comfort he could make would only make things worse. She hated him, had to, and was entirely in the right to do so. 

Vaguely, he noticed Molly shift on the settee, but refused to do more than watch her in peripheral in case she still wanted a fight. 

“Oh look, Richard,” she murmured dryly. “It seems she’s here.” 

She downed the rest of her drink and, resettling her cat around her neck, strode up to the other women and put a hand on each of the maids’ backs. It was only an afterthought that she was refusing to look at him – Belle was still staring in his direction, and he wasn’t about to waste that gift and look away. 

“Well, we’re off to bed,” Molly yawned. “I’ll call the carriage for you downstairs – God knows how long he’ll take to get up here otherwise. Just get rid of this idiot,” she waved at Gold, “whenever you tire of him.” 

Belle didn’t even nod. She was still staring at him, poised as if he was a snake ready to attack. If only she knew…

Coward that he was, he was the first to look away. He tried not to wince at her sigh of relief that followed, focusing instead on his feet so he wouldn’t make an utter fool of himself. He couldn’t help but be distracted, though, when Belle swung her arms and settled something down at her feet. 

Bags. Tartan bags. He hadn’t even realized she’d been carrying any. She certainly hadn’t taken them with her, she hadn’t taken anything with her. What need would she have of them? 

There was a knock on a door downstairs, and suddenly the conversation he couldn’t pay attention to in Belle’s presence made sense. They were talking about packing. About Belle going to France.

And Molly was sending her a carriage. 

He cleared his throat, took a step closer, only for her to back away. He didn’t make the mistake of thinking it an action of submission – with her chin raised, and her hands clenched at her sides, it couldn’t be mistaken as anything but a warning. 

That didn’t do anything to comfort him. 

He coughed again. “Y-you’re going somewhere?” he finally managed.

She nodded, her eyes boring right into his. He’d almost prefer if she looked away.

“Avignon,” she said quietly. “Molly’s arranged for me to work there as a florist in a shop there.”

“Were you going to collect your books on the way back?”

Her nose wrinkled in confusion, and oh how he wanted to kiss that line away. 

“My books? No, no, I… I left them there.” It obviously killed her to say it, but she covered it well, masking it almost instantly with a cold propriety accustomed to the upper class. He’d taught her too well. “Along with your ring and everything else I had that was worth any money. I assumed that would be easier on you, only losing the worthless part of your collection. You can use those to buy your next fiancée.”

The words were a slap to his face. She couldn’t think that, that she was replaceable like every other damn thing in his home. Before he could even begin to argue, though, she was steamrolling on, just as strong, just as clever as she always had been.

“I wouldn’t have had the time to get them even if I did want to. I leave on a ship from Southampton in just a few hours, actually.”

His heart stuttered. Southampton. She really was leaving him, then. If he’d only been a moment later, she’d have been on her way and he never would’ve seen her again. 

But he hadn’t been, he reminded himself. He’d found her, he’d caught her before she could go. Surely that was a sign in his favor. Surely it meant he still had a chance. 

Her shoulders fell with a sigh. 

“Ri – professor.” The correction made his whole body break. She hadn’t called him “professor” last night when she stroked his hair. He didn’t want to be her professor ever again. “Why are you here?”

It took all his willpower to meet her eyes, a feat he felt he had to accomplish since she wouldn’t. The hurt he saw in them was just as terrible as he’d feared, but he hadn’t accounted for the rush of longing he’d have for her, the urge to drag her back into his chest and never let her go. 

To find them a room and make love to her like she deserved, slow and worshipful and lasting.

He was itching just to touch her again.

He cleared his throat, but kept his gaze on hers. “I came to ask Molly’s help in looking for you,” he mumbled. “Mrs. Nolan noticed you were missing and I… we were worried. We thought you might be hurt.” 

Belle snorted, and the derisiveness in her tone almost made him flinch away.

“Yes, because I can’t handle myself on the streets at all. Indeed, you did meet me at the opera house, didn’t you, professor?”

“No, that’s not – that isn’t –” He cut himself off, floundering at the sardonic tone of her voice. He’d always known she’d have a sharp wit when riled. He just hadn’t imagined, fool that he was, that she’d use it on him. “It hasn’t escaped my notice. I know you know your way around the city.” 

She almost smiled at him, but it was too sarcastic to do anything but twist the knife. “And yet you were all so worried about me that they sent you to hunt me down.” 

“People are dangerous,” he attempted. An idea, stupid as anything else he’d imagined, sprung to his mind, and he didn’t second guess it before babbling, “You can take care of yourself, but that doesn’t make it any safer out there. I read your journal, the night I brought back your book.”

The betrayal on her face wasn’t at all worth the hope he’d had that she’d be warmed by the memory.

“You read my private thoughts? You were spying on me?”

He forced himself not to protest. No, he hadn’t meant to be spying – he only wanted to know her more. But, then, intent was meaningless. His pride didn’t change her pain. 

“Well,” she huffed, her hands tightened angrily at her sides, “you know exactly what sort of things I’ve had to go through. You’ll know that I put food on the table every morning, noon, and night, not just for myself, but for a sickly sister and a stowaway friend. You’ll know that I worked some eighteen hours a day most days just to make ends meet. I’m no errant child, professor. I can make it without you just fine.”

"I know," he interrupted quickly. "I know that.” 

It was wrong to stop her when she was so obviously in the right. He knew that. He knew. But if he didn’t tell her what he’d been trying to say from the start, he’d never get the chance again. She had to know. She had to know before she tried to leave him again. 

He shuffled, looking shamefully into her eyes. 

"But I suppose you never wondered how I’d make it without you."

She stared at him as if she wanted to slap him. He braced himself, knowing he deserved all of her anger, but she only stepped closer, her hand still clenched at her side. A wry smile twitched his lip - he should’ve known that she was too much a lady to do what any other sane woman would.

"Don’t you dare try that now," she warned. "Don’t you dare try to guilt me into staying. I lived for years with a man who promised to change when he needed my money and hurt us when he didn’t. I won’t do it again."

He stepped forward, and this time she didn’t back away, even if her head rose yet another inch to meet him. He could apologize now, he knew. He could tell her he was sorry for casting her out, for shutting her away from him when all she felt in those moments was love. He could propose again, ring or no ring. Whatever she said otherwise, whatever she tried to tell him with her body language, she was just as ready to be taken in by him now as she ever was. With one word from him, she’d come back and agree all too readily to his engagement. 

But it didn’t miss his attention that there were still tears in her eyes. And worse – so, so much worse – they were accompanied by fear. 

Belle had never feared him before. Maybe she didn’t still. But she did fear the thought of what he’d say, what other little trick he might use to convince her to stay. She was afraid of him speaking to her and leading her astray again with thoughts that he was a decent human being.

When all they’d ever had was language, that was much too much for him to bear. 

He took a deep breath, and forced himself to look away. 

Apologizing to her for being wrong would do nothing but assuage his wounded pride. It wouldn’t ease her pain, wouldn’t make her feel anything but guilt since she was such an honest soul, and it certainly wouldn’t bring her back. Not in the way he wanted.

Keeping her would only hurt them both. The meager affection for him that would devolve out of her love would quickly turn to hatred instead. He would hold her tighter, and she would learn, like the rest of the world, to despise him.

There were a good many things he could bear - watching her live without him, watching her live lovelessly beside him. But he could never be able to survive a life of watching her grow to hate him.

His decision was made. The words stung like acid on his tongue even before he spoke them.

"Well, France should be good for you, then."

The surprise in her eyes cut him more deeply than if she’d actually taken a knife to his heart. “What?”

“France. They…” The words choked him, but he swallowed through it. “They’ll be happy to have you there, I’m sure. You already have your name going for you. And besides, you always said you wanted to travel.”

The surprise, the damnable hope, remained on her face, but still she narrowed her eyes at him in suspicion. 

“I won’t fall for it,” she said carefully. “Don’t attempt to trick me into staying.”

Gold dropped his head, his wry laugh causing him to shake. “Oh no. I fully expect I’ll never see you again.” 

He felt her hesitation. She was waiting for him to say something else, he knew, but he honestly had nothing left to say. All he had was his own waiting, for her to walk out of his life forever. 

He didn’t even bother to hide his sigh when, at last, she leant back down to retrieve her bags. He wanted to offer to carry them for her, heavy as they looked, but even the thought of doing that was too much. No, better for her to go alone – as she’d said, she’d manage it just fine. 

“Just one last thing, Belle… Miss French,” he said. He saw her tense, as if she’d known all along he’d never be so generous, and he fought to keep his eyes from watering. She made him want to be a better person. Even after she was gone, he wanted to keep that in memory of her. “I wanted you to know that, if nothing else, I… I can say I did what I set out to do. I’ve made you a proper lady. But even that’s not right – you were always a lady.”

Belle’s fingers tightened on the doorknob, but she didn’t turn around. “Goodbye, Professor Gold. You won’t be seeing me again.”

The door clicked loudly behind her, echoing in the darkness. He followed her footsteps down with his ears, listening to every clip of her heels on the stairs. Down the hall. The snap of the front door shutting behind her. And still he waited like a foolish schoolboy for her to come racing back into his arms with promises that she forgave him, and still loved him, and was willing to give him another try. 

When the clock dinged at two o’clock, though, thirty minutes after he’d heard her carriage roll down the drive, he forced himself to deal with the truth.

She was gone. Forever. And she wasn’t coming back.

—————————————————————————————————————————————-

He was blind, deaf, and dumb to the world on the ride back through Westminster. He didn’t remember leaving Molly’s mansion, or getting into the carriage, or even crossing the bridge back into town. If he was anything but numb, he would’ve felt helpless for it. He didn’t know what to do, what to think, whether or not it would even be worth it to try. Even at his coldest, when he’d all but given up hope of getting his son back and starting his life again, he couldn’t understand what drove some people to kill themselves. Not even Jefferson, who thought he’d lost his wife and daughter both in the same night.

Now, though… now he wasn’t as sure. 

The only thing he had left was the hope of finding Bailey now that he had won Jefferson’s bet. And while his son was more than enough, worth more than anything to him, he couldn’t rid himself of the emptiness in his chest. 

He’d had hope, dreams, of bringing his son back as a family. Now, all he could promise his boy was a bitter old man whom no one could ever hope to love. 

Busy as it was, the noises from Covent Garden didn’t even faze him as they rode through. She didn’t work there anymore, didn’t live there anymore – he wasn’t going to hear her voice amongst the crowd. He’d never hear her voice again. It would be just as lost to him as any aria from a show at the opera house next door. 

The opera house…

Gold jolted forward as if the carriage had skidded to a halt.

“Stop!” he called, knocking his cane on the roof so Dove would hear. “Stop here! Just… just stop here.” 

The horses slowed, and he felt the ground vibrate as Mr. Dove took his single step to the door. 

“Sir?” he asked as he swung it wide. 

Gold was barely paying attention, though. The opera house, grand and gold as ever, was standing right in front of him, barely a block away from Covent Garden. 

“You can let me out here,” he mumbled dazedly. “I can walk the rest of the way.”

Dove’s concerned face hovered overhead, but, loyal servant that he was, he didn’t question him any further. Gold barely had to wait a moment before he was back in the carriage and driving off, and then he was striding as quickly as he could to the building across the street. 

Vendors all around shouted at him as he neared the building, trying to hock whatever they were selling in his direction, and he only barely restrained himself from shouting at them to shut up and move on. There was only one voice he needed to hear, and they weren’t going to help him find it. 

He circled each pillar in turn, easily ignoring the people’s curious looks as he searched for the right one. He’d been just by the door when he listened to her the first time, talking to Jefferson about the flowers in her bag. 

“Well, what an odd thing to say! Ain’t never met a soul what didn’t like a red rose.”

Gold smiled at the memory, but shook it off just as quickly. It wasn’t right. He was imagining clipped vowels where then she’d had none. He still couldn’t hear the voice she had as Izzy, and if he was going to delve into this madness, his fantasy had to be perfect. 

He tried a different pillar, leaning behind it as he had the night they’d met. If he closed his eyes, he could almost imagine it was nighttime again, that it was raining and he could hear her just a few feet away.

“I am! I ain’t done nothin’ illegal, I’m a good girl!”

And it still wasn’t right. He ran a shaky hand through his hair. He’d forgotten what her voice – her real voice – sounded like. He’d never get it back. He’d never get her back. She was gone, and…

Gold reached out his arm to steady himself, trying not to fall on his arse from hyperventilating. He felt the stares around him darken, obviously worried for his sanity, but he would be the first to tell them it was gone. To any sane person, the fact that many of the people in the square owed him money and thought him a hard, respectable presence would be enough incentive to straighten up. But he couldn’t bring himself to care a bit for his reputation. He was losing the person that gave his life meaning, and without that, his dignity was already shot. 

He’d thought he’d have memories of her. Memories of her hair, and her voice, and her touch, and the sweet smell of her skin as he moved over her and listened to her shout that she loved him. But in three months, he’d already forgotten her original accent. How much longer, then, until he forgot what she looked like, what she tasted like, what she felt like? He wouldn’t be able to survive like that, slowly losing every trace of her he’d ever hoped of having until he went mad and wasn’t at all worth a second chance with his boy. 

The thought had him slamming his head back against the marble wall. No, that wasn’t good enough. He would sacrifice a good many things, but he wasn’t wasting his opportunity to get his son back. There were other ways, there had to be. Even if he had to beg Molly to take recordings of Belle’s voice for him and mail them to him. 

His eyes snapped open, his hand clutched tight around his cane. Maybe that wouldn’t be necessary at all. If he remembered correctly, he’d recorded each of Belle’s speech lessons from the beginning through their stint at the Ascot. 

It wouldn’t be enough by far to replace her, to ease the pain of her leaving him, but at least it would keep him from cracking. 

Mouth set in a stern line, he hefted himself off the pillar and turned towards Wimpole Street. For the first time he could remember, he was thankful it was only a few minutes’ walk away from his home to the Gardens. No matter how many times he tried to replay it in his head, Belle’s voice wouldn’t come to him, and it was beginning to drive him to madness. Instead, he tried to focus on a plan of action, something he could do to make sure she didn’t slip entirely from his hands. She’d left all her clothes, after all, and her books, and her jewelry. Her engagement ring. He could seal it off, allow no one else entry, and only go in himself when he was most desperate. All other times, he would content himself with recordings of her speaking while he instructed her, and pretending that she was still in the room with him.

Wimpole Street was strangely empty when he finally rounded the last corner. There were no carriages outside, not Dove’s and, more thankfully, not Mr. Wayne-Booth’s. He wouldn’t put up with the latter’s incessant rambling without finally breaking and killing the man, and the former would look at him strangely for coming back so soon. It would be bad enough having to put up with the colonel.

Mindful of his bruises, he shouldered the door open, not bothering with waiting for Mrs. Nolan to get it for him. A dull itch touched his fingers as he pressed it closed behind his back again, and he looked down only barely curious to find a note on the wall with his name on it. He pulled it free of the frame, but, unwilling to let anything hold him up, took it with him to the library.

Mrs. Nolan and Miss Lucas have gone to Lisson Grove to look for Belle. I’ve gone myself to meet with an old friend at the home office – I don’t know if his contacts are as good as Molly’s, but it’s worth a shot. If nothing comes up, I’ll be back by dinner. If you find anything, stay put unless absolutely necessary so we can help. We want her back, too.

\- Jefferson

Gold chuckled humorlessly and tossed the scrap of paper to the glass riddled floor. They could miss her all they wanted, it wouldn’t change the fact that he’d so thoroughly ruined any chance of happiness with her. He could no more fix things now than he could glue together every shard of glass he’d smashed with his cane. 

He’d lost her. He’d lost everything.

But he hadn’t lost the record. 

His body slumped forward in relief as he pulled the disk out, the words “Belle French Day 1” engraved on the inner ring. 

Sighing, he shucked off the music recording in the Victrola and replaced it with Belle’s. The machine screeched as it tried to find the right line, and Gold waited till he heard his own voice before grabbing the last full bottle of whiskey in the room and settling himself on the chair facing the window. Her chipped cup was still on the table, the only thing he couldn’t b ring himself to smash, and he filled it to the brim before swallowing it in one go. The taste of the amber liquid burnt his tongue, reminding him of the awful hangover he hadn’t quite managed to avoid, but it was nothing but bliss that he felt when he heard the first scratch of the needle around her voice.

“Isabelle French, sir. I used to go by Izzy, but I s’pose it’s Belle now.”

“How old are you?”

“I’m no lady yet, but I know it ain’t proper to ask one what ‘er age is.”

Gold grinned darkly and took another swig. She was always so open with her thoughts and emotions. No amount of teaching had ever ridden her of that, thank God. 

“I work as a flar girl in Covent Garden and gents’ clubs an’ Mulan – that’s me friend, not me sister – works two jobs on top o’ that. ‘t ain’t much, but it’s enough to keep us on our feet.”

If he closed his eyes and though hard, he could almost remember her face when she’d told him that. The pride of being able to take care of herself, the exhaustion from being reminded of just how hard they had to work to get by. He was always intrigued by her, but in that moment, pacing the length of his library, he learned what it was to respect her. It was a rare thing indeed to work oneself to the bone solely for someone else’s benefit. But Belle did it. 

He clenched his cane tight, and allowed the tears he’d held back all day to seep from his eyelids. He didn’t deserve to feel anything but guilt for pushing her away, but that didn’t make the grief any better. 

Another pour, another sip, and the water ran down his cheeks. 

“I used to work in front of the theaters, too. One night in particular stands out.” 

He lifted the cup again, but stopped just as it touched his lips. That line wasn’t on the record. That wasn’t a line at all.

Slowly, lest his hallucination break apart, he set the bottle down. He was almost too afraid to open his eyes and find out that he was already daydreaming about her. 

But when he opened his eyes, there she was – just as beautiful as she’d been when she’d left hours earlier. 

Her finger caressed the Victrola, easing the needle off its black surface, and he stumbled forward, leaving her cup and his bottle behind. Her eyes were just as wet as his were, darting from him, to the record, to the glass scattered all over the floor, and he couldn’t decide if he wanted this to be a dream so she wouldn’t be sad, or reality so she’d be within touching distance again. 

She sidled forward the remaining distance, just as slow and cautious as he was. He could count the miniscule freckles on her nose – that wasn’t something that any hallucination could dream up.

“You’re here,” he coughed. “You’re real.” 

Belle bit her lip, but, unlike the time before, she didn’t look away from him. She even smiled, a real, honest smile like the ones he’d grown so accustomed to on her face. 

“You said I could come back for my books,” she joked, the words somewhat dimmed by her crying. 

It wasn’t right of him to touch her, not after all the things he’d said to her, but he couldn’t resist the urge to wipe the tears from her cheeks. She should never cry – she deserved nothing but happiness. 

And when her smile turned into a grin, and she nuzzled into his palm, he felt utterly wrecked. 

He leaned closer, so much that he could almost feel the skin of her face against his. A thousand questions raced through his mind, the least of which being whether or not she was really here. But then she reached for him, too, and his words spilt out like the alcohol.

“Why did you really come back?”

Her fingers wound around his hair, curling the strands around and around beside his face, and whatever tears he’d held back slid free.

“I wasn’t going to,” she sobbed. “But something changed my mind. You… you let me go.”

He wanted to ask her why that mattered. What miraculous course of nature had led her back into his arms. But she was in his arms. Nothing else mattered besides kissing her – strong, and hard, and full of every meager ounce of love he possessed. Lord knew if he’d get the chance to do so again.

His knuckles brushed her cheek, painting it with the tears she’d shed, and he brought his lips finally to hers. 

“I’m sorry,” he whimpered into her mouth. “I’m so sorry for hurting you, Belle. I shouldn’t have been so stupid, I should’ve known better than to think you’d do something like that. I love you, please, just–”

Belle cut him with her tongue against his, but even that wasn’t enough to stifle the happy little noise in the back of her throat. 

“It doesn’t matter. I love you, too, Richard.” 

He choked on her words, but it didn’t keep him from slanting his mouth tighter against hers. He was wrong in thinking he should’ve held her last night. No, he should’ve kissed her and never stopped. 

“Please,” he begged, pulling away to kiss the corner of her mouth, the tip of her nose, her eyelids, “please tell me you’re staying. I can’t let you go again, love, please, I can’t.” 

She nodded, and a weight in the pit of his stomach dissipated. She was back. He wasn’t dreaming – she was back.

“Yes, yes, I’m staying.” She separated from him with a loud pop, and he followed her as if she were his very source for air. “But you have to promise me something first.”

“Anything,” he swore, unable to stop from kissing the space between her eyebrows again. Everything. I’ll marry you in the spot if that’s what you want.”

Belle laughed at his eagerness, and he hauled her tight against him once more, running his hands down her sides and back and arms. She was here. She was here, and she wasn’t going anywhere. 

“All I want is for you to promise me, promise me, that you’ll never doubt I love you again. That you won’t try to get rid of me again.”

Gold shook his head erratically, not even caring how dizzy it made him in his state. 

“Just try and get rid of me.” It physically hurt him to let go of her, but he managed it all the same, if only so he could stare into her eyes. She had promises to keep, too. “But I’m not a good man, Belle. And you know now that I’m a coward. Those things won’t change. I don’t want you staying here just because I gave you hope to the contrary.” 

This time, it was Belle who reached for him, and he cradled his head thankfully in her neck. He didn’t have the strength to give her space again, not after thinking he’d never truly have her love. 

“You didn’t give me hope, Richard. You restored my faith.” Her fingers were soft in his hair, brushing it over his temples as she settled them into his chair. “I’ve always seen the good in you. I just want you to see it in yourself.”

He stroked her tongue with his, holding her arms tight in his hands. There were so many things he wanted to tell her, so many things he wanted to warn her about him. But for now, he would let them be. This was a miracle, and he wasn’t about to waste it.

“I promise,” he assured her. “I promise I won’t let you go.” 

Her smile lit up the whole room. She opened her mouth, either to kiss him or talk to him he didn’t care, but they were interrupted by a loud banging on the front door. 

“GOLD!” Jefferson shouted, his voice unmistakable in his anger. “Belle told me to wait outside for ten minutes so you could talk! Now, I’ve given you a solid fifteen, and if you haven’t apologized to her and fixed everything, I am abandoning any oaths I made as an officer and shooting you in the head, you daft bastard!” 

Belle snorted into his jacket, and Gold kissed the top of her head as he settled him back down in the chair.

Eventually, he supposed, he’d have to get up and let the colonel in. He’d have to ask Belle exactly what had changed her mind, and if she had any other stipulations for him to strive on. And he still intended to marry her before the day was out and he fuck up anything else.

 

For now, though, with his chin resting on her head, and her arms wrapped about his neck, he would settle himself with just growing reaccustomed to having her so close.


	17. Epilogue

Accustomed To Her Face (Epilogue)  
Title: Get Me to the Church on Time

mAy-U Ficathon 2014  
Giftee: forzaouat

Rating: PG

Author’s Note: Okay, so this isn’t exactly the rumbelle wedding everybody was expecting. But, you know, it is a rumbelle wedding. And it’s definitely canon for my Accustomed verse :D

 

On the corner of Crown Circuit and Russell Street, a small congregation had begun to pile up. Women and men, elderly and young alike tittered amongst themselves as they milled about the square, eyes darting now and then to the doors of the Scottish Presbyterian Crown Court Church. Overhead, the bells chimed – another thirty minutes, and they’d be ready to start. 

“Damn,” Professor Gold hissed to himself. 

Irately, he flung closed the blinds, blocking out the anxious faces on the street below. What right did they have to look so nervous, milling about like ants as they did? They weren’t the ones getting married in less than half an hour. They weren’t the ones whose bride was missing when the wedding was in less than half an hour. 

His hand stumbled off his cane, sending it skittering across the floor. He cringed at the noise, but didn’t bother to pick it up – he’d already dropped it twice, and would likely do so again. Instead, he let his shaking hands wander to his hair, swiping through the overlong strands. He should’ve taken Mal’s advice and had it trimmed before the ceremony, but he’d been too stubborn to give in. Maybe that was why Belle hadn’t shown up, his hair was too unruly. 

Gold scoffed at himself. He was being ridiculous. If she was going to leave him, it wouldn’t be for something as small as his appearance. Six months of her light wasn’t hardly enough to erase the forty-plus years of darkness he’d dwelled in on his own. There were demons in his path she couldn’t fathom, and they were bound to come out eventually. Some of them would come out rather soon, he was certain, assuming that Hatter’s contacts came through with finding his son. And he wasn’t sure how long his Belle would stay once she knew exactly what kind of monster she’d gotten herself tangled up with. 

Of course, he thought, glaring at his reflection in the mirror propped against the opposite wall, his appearance certainly wasn’t doing him any favors, either. There was more grey than brown at his temples nowadays, and more bone than flesh about his face. He looked gaunt, thin, and old, there was no beating around that bush. 

And he still hadn’t found a single damned tie in his suitcase that matched his suit.

With a groan, he flumped into the nearest chair and dropped his head into his hands. He was a fool. How Belle had agreed to his engagement, much less fallen in love with him, was beyond all comprehension. 

Knock knock!

Gold jumped to his feet like he’d been electrocuted. 

“Belle?” 

He was halfway to the door in an instant, foregoing his cane despite the pain in his foot. She was here. She hadn’t left him. She –

The door opened, revealing the form of Colonel Hatter leaning precariously against a vase. Gold’s hopeful smile dropped. 

His hand clenched around the door, ready to slam it shut before his brain had even made the conscious decision to do so. An instant later, though, the colonel’s foot had jammed itself in his way, and that damnable smirk of his was dancing before his eyes.

“No, just me. I know I’m not quite as lovely as she is, but there’s no need to look so disappointed,” he mock-pouted, knocking back his ridiculous purple hat until it sat on the back of his head. “I thought I looked rather dashing myself.” 

A low growl rose up in Gold’s chest, but Hatter barged in all the same, ignorant or indifferent to his annoyance. He assumed the latter when the man’s eyes scanned over him with mock appreciation.

“You look dapper yourself, Professor. What’s the occasion?” 

“You bloody well know the occasion, Hatter,” he hissed through clenched teeth. “As you are well aware, my wedding is in –” his eyes darted to his pocket watch, and his stomach dropped “– fifteen minutes, and Belle is nowhere to be found. So I apologize if I’m a little terse. Now, what do you want?”

“A drink, for one thing,” he smiled, taking the miraculously full decanter of brandy – another thing to think Belle for, his renewed sobriety – and lifting it to his mouth. “And, for another, to collect you for the festivities. What kind of best man would I be if I left the groom to his own devices?”

Gold was less than moved. And judging by the fact that even his blasted best man’s face fell a bit at his glare, Jefferson knew it, too.

“Well, I also come with news from your beloved bride.”

If he wasn’t still propped against the door, Gold thought he might have fallen over. Not just because he’d mentioned his Belle – though that would’ve been enough on its own – but because there was barely any humor in the colonel’s voice when he did. Normally, he would’ve seen that as a blessing. Since they’d announced their engagement to him after Belle returned from Mal’s, Jefferson hadn’t let up on either of them about their upcoming nuptials. If anything remotely wedding-related presented itself, Gold knew that his blasted oaf of a colonel would be lurking behind it with a smirking comment. 

Now, though… now he wasn’t so much as smiling. 

Gold huffed, attempting to hide the renewed shaking of his shoulders. “Well?”

“Well,” Hatter took another long drag from the decanter, “let me forewarn you, it isn’t great news. And you’ll likely be waiting here for a bit longer than you anticipated.”

His blood ran cold. He’d been right – his nightmare had come true. “She isn’t coming, is she? She’s gotten cold feet?”

The colonel opened his mouth, but it was too late. He knew – Belle had come to her senses, and now he was alone once more. 

“I knew it. I knew this would happen.” His fingers tore at his tie, throwing it to the ground where it flumped against its brethren. “She’d never want to marry me, of course she wouldn’t. This was all just a huge mistake. I can’t –”

“Gold!” Hatter’s hands clamped down on his shoulders, stilling him before he could dismantle anything else. It took most of his self-control not to deck the man anyway. “Gold, that’s not what she wanted me to tell you at all.” 

He groused, fists bunched at his sides. “Then what?”

“I’m trying to tell you, you blasted old git, that the carriage you ordered her lost a wheel halfway down Wimpole and they had to hail another one. She was all set to come here on foot with me, I assure you, but Mal wouldn’t have it. Something about not wanting to ruin her shoes.” He lifted his eyebrows in bewilderment, as if he couldn’t fathom the idea of being so concerned with an article of clothing. His hat, meanwhile, dipped another inch down his head, causing the ostrich feather in it to bob about his neck. “She isn’t leaving you, Gold. She’s just going to be a little late.”

The fear simmered out of him like a burst balloon. “She… late. She’s just going to be late?”

Hatter nodded frantically, his stupid little grin already starting up again. Gold found that, for once, the sight of it made him relax instead of tense up. 

“That’s all,” he agreed. “Well, she also wanted me to give you a kiss to calm you down, but I assume it wouldn’t have quite the same affect coming from me.”

He snorted. “Quite.” 

Jefferson stared at him a moment longer, then, with all the care of touching a rabid bear, laid his hand on Gold’s shoulder. 

“Don’t worry about her leaving you, alright?” he said softly. “I may be mad as they come, but I know for a fact that she loves you. She’s going to stay with you till one of you dies, God bless her, so stop thinking she’s going to run out.”

He blinked, struck nearly dumb by the man’s speech. When he realized that he wouldn’t budge until he received an answer, though, he forced himself to nod. Whether he believed it yet or not was another story, but hearing someone else believe in him, him and his little Belle… it alleviated more worry than anything else could.

Somewhere above them, the church bells clanged loudly against the steeple. Gold sighed at the noise, but, fortunately, it didn’t rile him half as much as it had before. He still took a hearty sip of brandy, though, once the colonel finally set it back down. 

“Shall we get on with the show?” he murmured. “Appease the hungry crowd outside?” 

Gold almost let himself chuckle at that, but managed to hide it just in time. Insufferable as he was, though, Jefferson still caught the tail end of his smile. 

Breathing normally for the first time all day, Gold bent down to retrieve his cane. He briefly glanced at the ties littering the room, but, thinking better of it, left them where they lay. No longer tensed, he straightened his suit, and nodded once to his best man. 

At once, Jefferson was back to his usual, buoyant self. 

“Excellent! On we go, then!” 

He gripped Gold’s free hand with both of his own, dragging him out the room and down the corridor with all the excitement of a little boy on Christmas morning. The roll of his eyes he granted him was half-hearted at best, but he didn’t attempt anything harsher. Even when the silly fool, his hat almost sitting on his neck now, started to click his heels, humming, “He’s getting married in the morning! Ding dong, the bells are going to chime!”

—————————————————————————————————————

Belle panted as she raced up the steps to the church, mindful of her uncomfortably high shoes and the long train of her gown. She might’ve cursed at the stupid bloody carriage and its stupid bloody wheel, but, unfortunately, the insult didn’t sound quite as meaningful in her posh English accent. 

She smirked at the thought, though, the first smile she’d worn since they left the professor’s – since they left Richard’s, house, she reminded herself with a flush. 

“Miss Isabelle!” Mal’s voice called from behind her. “Slow down, will you. You can’t be late for your own wedding, dear, they’re waiting for you.”

Her body desperately argued with that statement, wanting nothing more than to stand next to Richard, but she forced herself to stop on the top stair all the same. She channeled her nervous energy to bouncing on her feet instead. 

Below, Mal, Mrs. Nolan, Mulan, and Rose marched up the square. The former two looked indulgently irritated with her, hobbling as fast as they could in their fine gowns, while the latter only grinned and jumped as she did herself. 

Mrs. Nolan reached her first, all but panting as she lifted herself up the final steps. “Remind me,” she huffed, “to pen a strongly worded letter to the Church of Scotland when this is over. The least they could do is settle someplace less out-of-the-way.” 

She smiled to herself and nodded. Words, for once, were out of her reach. 

“You look loverly, sis,” Rose smiled, hugging her around the middle as soon as she reached her. “White’s a good color fer ya.” 

Mulan nodded in agreement, winding her arm around Rose’s waist even as she hugged Belle for herself. Mal hung back, stern as ever, but she made no attempt to hide the smirk on her face. 

“I said slow down, not stop,” she drawled. “Go on, go on. I know you want to see that dastardly fiancé of yours, Lord knows why.” 

Belle wanted to laugh, but the nerves had bundled in her stomach. Richard wouldn’t be just her fiancé for much longer. She’d soon have to call him husband.

She gulped at the thought, her fingers twirling restlessly at her hem. Before she could move, though, a sharp, manicured hand touched the small of her back, and pushed her forward just enough to enter the church. She didn’t have to turn to know that, when she squeezed that hand in thanks, Mal looked on her with one of her own rare smiles. 

The lights inside the church were blinding, enough so that they even drowned out the noise of the people before her. They couldn’t dull her to the image at the end of the aisle, though. She didn’t think anything could. Silhouetted against the painted glass windows, her Richard stood tall and proud, hands curled around his cane as he waited. The air caught in her chest – it seemed she would never outgrow the thrill of falling in love with him over and over again. 

Pulling her flowers close to her chest, she took a deep breath, and took the first step towards him. 

She realized, dimly, the moment everyone began to notice she’d arrived. A hush fell over them, one that she was wholly unaccustomed to in regards to herself. Women like Mal received honor like this. Women like Queen Mary Marghereta. Not her. 

But then Richard turned around. Slowly, so slowly that she could see the light catch every strand of his hair. 

The look he gave her made her feel like more than a queen, more than a goddess, more than a human, then she’d ever felt before. 

“Hey,” she mouthed, a faint blush tinging her cheeks. “Sorry I’m late.”

Half of his mouth quirked up, but his eyes were still focused unwaveringly on hers. She felt that she might melt under the intensity of his gaze. She felt she wouldn’t mind, as long as he could melt with her. 

His hands reached for her when he touched the step below him, pulling her gently to rest at his side before the pastor. His eyes still bored into her like he was seeing through her soul, and she felt the first bit of warmth fill her eyes. He was there in an instant, though, foregoing all propriety to wipe the happy tears from her eyes. 

“I love you,” he whispered, clutching her hands tight to his body. “I love you, always.”

Her breath choked on a sob, but she couldn’t keep from smiling even if she tried. “I love you, too. I do. I do…”


End file.
